


Used To Be

by Monkeygirl77



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Archangels know how to fix Heaven, At least two angels have common sense, Badass Michael, Badass teenagers, Canon Character of Color, Choir Master Lucifer, Come on people, Common Sense, He's just a complex individual, Healer Raphael, Heaven is Broken, Look it Up, Male Character of Color, Michael's broken out of the Cage, Raphael is not a douche, The others are resurrected, diversity people, in my opinion, just two tho, seriously, that tag should be used more, they drug 4 archangels and hold the captive for a time, they were there in the beginning, which is sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygirl77/pseuds/Monkeygirl77
Summary: "Now, Heaven's on the verge of collapsing, there's barely enough power to keep the lights on, and everyone's freaking out. So, while everyone turned to Castiel for an answer, because he's apparently our 'all knowing savior', we thought to ourselves, 'who was around when we were first being created', and light bulb, the Archangels!"
Comments: 63
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

_It had been a side story, one He'd created in His spare time, to see how far they'd be willing to go to get back what was lost, a story of redemption, of trial and pain, of loss and heartbreak, a great story, but not His main focus, not until they took a step off the page, they took control of the story as He wrote it, turning it into something He never imagined. He's always meant for His four oldest sons to reunite, they belonged together, they were the four pillars of Heaven, they had to be together for their race to survive._

_He turns His attention away from the story of the Winchesters and turns His attention to the side story, watching the words write themselves, He taps the page lightly, and an image appears, He watches closely, not wanting to miss any details, wanting to catch it all, what a marvelous idea He'd had, He'd let them have control of their story, they were much better at writing it._

…

They ventured deep into the pits of Hell, sneaking passed demons and other infernal creatures, avoiding the eyes of the last Prince, and crept their way up to the cage. Peeking inside, the taller of the two nods, and the smaller pours the contents of their jar between the cracks, the scent wafts upwards, they cover their noses to keep it from affecting them, and they wait, they wait a good ten minutes before the scent fills the area. Bodies drop, of passing demons, unconscious to the floor, a loud thump from within the cage alerts them to their success in their mission.

The smaller one steps up before the taller, peeking in through the bars of the iron cage, seeing the unconscious form on the ground, he nods, maneuvering himself between the cracks of the cage, with an agility unseen, he drops into a crouch on the inside, watching the unconscious form closely. He steps forward cautiously, not wanting to run the chance of waking them, and squats beside them, turning their head slightly, he sees that their eyes are closed, their potion worked. He curls his fingers under their arms and tugs backwards, pulling them forward, grunting under the weight. "He's _heavy_."

"You're just _small,_ put some muscle into it, Adonai."

"I'm putting _all_ my muscle into it, Iaoth!"

The taller of the two, Iaoth, taps the bars impatiently. "Hurry up, dude, Luci couldn't defend himself against his last Prince, I don't want to be here when he finds out we broke _him_ out of the cage."

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Adonai grunts as his back hits the wall of the cage. "How do we get him out, he's not going to fit through the cracks."

"Oh, my dear brother, I thought of that." The taller boy reaches into the bag they brought, pulling out a jar of slimy liquid, and shakes it around slightly. "Basilisk venom. Corrodes everything." He pulls the cap off and pours a good amount of the tinted goo over the edge of the crack his partner had climbed in through, it fizzles, melting the iron, and he stares in complete mystification. "Coool."

"Did you take that from Raphael's vault?"

"It's not like he's around to use it."

A hole forms under the fizzling metal, and Adonai hops out of the cage, allowing his brother access to their other side. They both heft them out of the cage, he drops like a sack of rocks, his head lulling, and they drop him just outside, both cringe as he falls back, and his head smacks the edge of the hole.

"Ouch."

"Is he bleeding?"

"I don't know, that was loud, it must have been hard, I'm surprised it didn't wake him up."

"Let's not test that." Adonai turns to his brother. "Do you have the collar?"

Iaoth nods, reaching back in the bag they brought with them, pulling out a silver collar, sigils carved in the rounded metal. He kneels, curling it around their neck, clasping it in place, the sigils glow a bright red for a moment, before fading. He nods, standing back up, turning to his friend as he collects their things, they mustn't leave a trace of their being there, besides the gaping hole in the cage.

"Hurry up!"

"I'm going, I'm going, calm down!" The smaller of the two pulls the straps of the backpack over his shoulders and looks to the taller. "You can carry him."

"Dammit!" Iaoth nods though, understanding, his brother had pulled him from the cage, it was his turn to put in the effort. Kneeling, he curls his fingers around their left wrist, and tugs them forward, over his shoulders, in a fireman's hold, and struggles as he rises to his feet. "Dammit, Michael, what are you _eating_?"

Adonai snorts and shakes his head, turning in the direction they came, knowing that his brother would follow, clumsily, as he struggled with the unconscious Archangel over his shoulders. Iaoth swears under his breath every so many minutes, so he knows he's there, as they avoid alerting anyone of their presence, as they creep their way back up to the Earth above.

He's never been so happy to see their car in his entire lifetime, as he struggles to remain on his feet with the _heavy_ Archangel hanging over his shoulders, it doesn't help that Michael's so damn _tall,_ and compared to him, _he's_ about Adonai's size. He reaches out for the handle with a shaking hand, and pulls the trunk open, leaning over to let the large man fall inside. "Sorry!" He calls when his older brother's head smacks the side of the trunk.

"Iaoth, we are _not_ putting him in the trunk!"

"Dude, he's a _warrior_ , that collar only dampens his grace, not his fighting skills, we want as much between us as possible if he wakes up."

"…." His brother nods in agreement. "Touche, come on, we gotta go."

He nods, closing the trunk, and joins him up front. Adonai turns the key in the ignition and their old car rumbles into life, he changes gears, and turns the wheel, steering them out of their previous destination. "Where to now?"

"We drop him off first, then we go after the next?"

"What order are we going in?"

"I don't know man, I'm making this up as I go, who ever comes to mind first."

"Raphael."

"Why him?"

"You said his name and it made me think about him."

"Alriiiight."

…

"Dude, where did you even find that thing?" Adonai watches in awe as Iaoth pulls the Healer's staff out of their bag, rubbing his hands together to wipe away the chalk residue, they were both ignoring the dried blood staining the floor, thinking about it was too gross.

"You don't want to know man. It's the only thing I could finds that had his grace in it." Iaoth steps into the middle of the circle, clutching the staff tightly, and leans over to pass his partner their bag. "Is the stuff ready?" This time, they brought face masks, one whiff of that stuff and their entire mission would be over, and they weren't ready for that just yet.

Adonai nods lightly. "Already permeating the room with its gracious scent."

"Good. Collar ready?"

"Right here."

"Cool cool cool. Let's get this party started." He grips the staff in both hands, closing his eyes, he focuses his grace on it, willing the Healer's grace within the wood to awaken. He pokes at it, prods it lightly, and when he gains no response, he makes a face and prods harder, sharper, and the grace inside flares, it shocks him, and he yelps, his eyes flying open, glowing the same electric blue as the Archangel's did.

Adonai watches in fascination, as electricity sparks from the top of the staff, as his brother's soaked in the currents. The runes he drew on the floor begins to glow, a bright electric blue, and the room rumbles, dust falls from the ceiling and he looks up for a moment.

Iaoth calls out in their native tongue, it holds an echo, like a thousand voices speaking all at once, lifts his arms slightly, and slams the butt of the staff into the floor. A crack echoes around them, it rumbles, like thunder after a strike of lightning, sparks fly from the impact. Electricity flares from the top, striking the floor, scorching the cement, and then the light show fades, in the middle of the scorched floor is a dark toned man, laying on his back, his skin glows slightly with the same electric blue the staff did, for a moment, and then it fades.

He leans forward on the staff, huffing, out of breath. "That….was….. _crazy_."

His brother nods, darting forward to slip the collar around the man's neck, the sigils carved in the side glow bright electric blue for a moment before fading once more. "It was so cool though. You were glowing, man. _Glowing_."

"You're carrying him. I'm pooped."

"What!" He jumps around and Iaoth smiles at him slightly. "But he's so _big_."

"You're just really _small_." Iaoth snorts softly, laughing under his breath. " _Everything's_ big to you."

"Asshole."

"Tired asshole."

Adonai groans, as he pulls the taller man over his shoulders, and nearly falls forward from the imbalance of weight over his shoulders, he hadn't squared himself before he'd hefted him up.

…

_"Mich….Michael…Wak…Wake up…..Michael…"_

He blinks sluggishly, the lights above him are dim, but still much too bright, and immediately he tries to take in his surroundings as his foggy mind tries to wake up on itself.

"Michael."

He turns at the voice, sitting in a chair next to him, chained to the leg, is his brother. "Raphael?"

"Yes, where are we?"

He stares at the younger archangel. "I thought…I thought you were _dead_."

The Healer huffs softly, nodding sharply. "I was. By Castiel's hand. When I get my hands on him…." He shakes his head, now is not the time, and he follows his brothers gaze around the room their trapped in. "I was awakened from my slumber. I remember a voice calling out to me, it was young, it ordered me to wake up. I was so stunned by the sheer audacity that someone thought they could order _me_ around that I woke."

Michael quirks his lips into a slight smile. "So, you did as you were ordered to."

Raphael glares at him mutedly. "I was stunned, I merely desired to see who was so ballsy, but when I arrived, I was rendered unconscious."

"I see you woke up first, though."

"Yes, their craftsmanship of this particular potion is rather sloppy, as soon as I caught my bearings, I was able to overcome it, and thus, I woke you up."

The older archangel hums softly, taking in their surroundings, a mattress lay against the far wall, some cans are piled up to it's left. The wall to their right is a sight to behold, someone's been planning, it's covered in pages and scribblings in enochian, the writing is sloppy, a young person. "Where are we?"

"It appears to be someone's home."

He turns a dull glance on the younger archangel. "Yes, thank you for that snippet of information, Raphael, I had absolutely no idea."

"There's your sword."

" _What?"_

True to the Healer's word, his swords resting on a table, before the wall of planning. "There's your staff."

"I can see it, yes." Raphael eyes the contents of the table. "Someone's raided my stores." His eyes manage to cover as much as they can from their vantage point. "There's Lucifer's trident."

"Where did they find _that_?"

"Holy shit!" They both look around at the sudden explicative, two boys stand before them, just a few paces away, one appears to be carrying Gabriel over their shoulders, the other carrying his horn. "No, no, no, no!" The one with the horn digs into their bag and lifts out a jar, throwing it down, it smashes, and an aroma curls around them.

"No, wait—" Is all Michael manages to make out before he slumps forwards, at his side, he manages to catch a glimpse of his brother's head lulling backwards as unconsciousness over comes him, and then his world falls black.

"Adonai, that was our _last_ jar!" Iaoth treks forward, lugging the Messenger with him, and leans over to drop him on the chair to the Healer's right, chaining his ankle to the chair's leg. "What happened to rationing!"

"Hey, we knocked out two archangel's, collared them, and bound them up, I don't want to face their wrath just yet!"

"I woulda thought of something!"

"There was no time!" Adonai throws their bag down. " _And_ you were carrying Gabriel!"

"I coulda thrown him at them!"

"Iaoth, _no_."

His brother stands from where he's kneeling at the Messenger's feet, using his and the Healer's knees as leverage as he pushes himself to his feet, and turns to look at him again. "You'll have to make more now before we can get the last one."

The shorter angel nods, squatting to pick up the pieces of glass from the shattered mason jar, his brother grabs the broom from the far-left corner and helps him clean up their mess. They throw away the broken glass, and Iaoth rolls his shoulders, Gabriel's heavier then he looks. "I'm going to take a shower." A nice hot shower would help with the aching muscles.

Adonai nods, turning towards his table of ingredients and pulls a bowl over to him. "I'll make more."

His brother nods, walking off, disappearing down the hall, and he hears the water turn on. Five minutes pass and he's still reading through the instructions for their concoction, when he hears the groan, and he looks over with wide eyes, as the Healer rubs at his eyes and leans forward, he looks down at his half cooked concoction, there's nothing for him to do to knock him back out, and he contemplates simply smacking him over the head with one of his bowls.

" _You_ drugged us."

He flinches and squeaks. "How are you awake!"

Raphael rubs at his eyes again. "Your craftsmanship is horrid. You're too heavy handed on the dragon's blood." The Healer elbows the Viceroy sharply and stomps his heel into the Messengers foot. "Why are we bound?"

"All things in good time."

"I could order you to tell me."

He stares at the archangel, he doesn't like the eyes that stare back at him, they're too cold, too cruel, too sharp. They're not like they used to be. "I don't have to listen to you."

"You _little_ —"

"I wouldn't!"

The warning comes too late, and the Healer yelps, his hands flying up to his neck, eye widening when he feels the collar, he runs his fingers over the runes and his mouth opens for a moment, no words come out. "You've _bound_ us?"

"It's for your own good."

"Mmm…Wha's happ'n'n?" They both turn to watch the Messenger wake up, he rubs at his eyes lightly and yawns, sitting up from his slumped position. He turns to look at his brother next to him, and stares a moment, his eyes widening in realization. "Raph, I thought you were dead!"

"I thought you were too, Gabriel."

The Messenger stares at him a moment longer before looking around, taking in their surroundings. "Where are we?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Raphael turns back to the boy. "He could tell us."

"Kiddo?"

"I'm going to pass out, dude, don't wake me unless the world's ending." Iaoth drawls as he crests the end of the hall, and falls short, staring at three sets of eyes, and he turns to look at his brother. "Adonai!"

"I didn't do anything! I swear! Raphael woke up on his own and woke the other two himself!"

"Oh, yea! How!"

"He said we didn't make it right!"

"Would you lower your voices please?" They both turn to look at the oldest Archangel, Michael regards them for a moment before he rubs at his eyes and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "We are all right here, there's no need to shout." He looks up at them after a moment. "Why are we here?"

Adonai and Iaoth turn to each other, Iaoth shakes his head and Adonai makes a gesture at them all, seemingly caught in an argument no one can hear.

Raphael clears his throat.

"Iaoth, they're going to find out!"

"Not yet!"

"Better now than later!"

"No!"

He clears his throat again.

Adonai turns back to them and his brother huffs. "We needed you."

Raphael runs his fingers over the runes again. "Why have you bound us?"

"We didn't think you'd come willingly."

Gabriel squints at them. "So you knocked us out until you could get us back here, and", he kicks his leg slightly. "Chained us up?"

"We needed to make sure you didn't leave."

Michael hums softly. "What do you need us for?"

Iaoth shakes his head again but Adonai soldiers on. "Heaven's on the verge of collapse."

_"What?"_

His brother gives up on his silence. "We figured, since you guys are the four pillars, that you'd be able to fix it."

"The four…." Gabriel's eyes widen. "You intend to bring _Lucifer_ here?" He nods lightly. "You _are_ going to need more of that knock out gas."

"You won't get _anywhere_ making it the way you are now." Raphael shakes his head. "Bring the table over and _I_ will make it."

Adonai and Iaoth exchange looks, and the smaller one nods, dragging the table over to rest before the Healer. He nods at him in appreciation and sifts expertly through the mass of bottle and vials, pouring them into the spare bowl with ease, he makes it swiftly, much more so then Adonai did. "Here." He holds the new mason jar out to them. "You'll find this will work much better." He sits back in his chair. "You will rest before you go. It takes a lot of strength to wake us up from our eternal sleep."

"But—"

"That was an _order_."

Both boys exchange looks, though they're bound, they don't want to test just how well it is. They nod in unison, setting the mason jar down on the table, and dart over to their bed, collapsing face first into their pillows.

Michael shakes his head at them both, and both elders turn to look at the Messenger, Gabriel hums softly. "Gabriel?"

"Just….A…..Minute…." He hears the locking mechanism on the collar unlatch, and he pulls it free, dropping it on the table. He feels his grace rush over him, like his life force is returning, his mind clearing of it's haze, and he reaches down to curl his fingers around the manacle on his ankle. "Okay, I'm free, who's next?" It melts under his touch and he looks up.

Raphael stares at him until he nods, biting his lip, and steps up behind him to unlock the collar around his neck, he yelps when it shocks him, and he _swears_ he hears his older brother chuckle, he pushes it to the back of his mind, because this is _Raphael_ they're talking about, and he does _not_ chuckle. He tosses the collar on the table over top of his and moves on to Michael, as the Healer leans forward to remove the manacle from around his ankle.

He stands, wandering idly around the room, coming to stand before the planning wall, and hums as he reads through the notes sprawled around the wall of maps and pictures.

Michael joins him, humming along to his own melody, as he reads the notes himself. "This is quite impressive."

"A lot of thought has been put into this." He reaches for one of the dusty scrolls on the second table. "They raided the library."

"How else would they know us all being together would re-stabilize Heaven."

"There's been a lot of trial and error." Gabriel holds up an unused collar, it's tinted crimson, blood has coated the metal. "A tad sacrificial."

"A concerning quality."

"Oh, Raph, I knew you still cared somewhere in that icy heart of yours."

The Healer glares heatedly at the Messenger, and he gulps, taking a step away from him, coming to rest on Michael's other side.

The Viceroy reaches for the Morningstar's trident. "I would like to know where they found _this_."

"I thought you destroyed it."

He shakes his head to the Messengers statement. "Lucifer hid it long before that. I doubt even _he_ remembered where he put it after everything that happened. How _they_ found it mystifies me."

"They had to go swimming to get my horn." Gabriel runs his fingers over the golden instrument. "Threw it in the Indian ocean."

"I placed my staff in one of my vaults."

"Raph," he looks over to the Messenger at the call of his name, and his eyes widen, reaching out to take the object he holds out to him. _"My bow."_

"It seems they figured out a way into your vaults." Michael intones, setting the Morningstar's trident to lean against the wall once more, and turns to look at the two of them, sleeping, blissfully unaware that their prisoners were free and up and about. "They've been sorely underestimated."

" _Basilisk venom?"_ The Healer growls lowly, picking up a large jar off the second table, the tinted substance moves as he tilts the jar. "They _raided_ my vaults!"

"Well, at least someone was putting it to use."

"Be _silent,_ Gabriel."

"I'm just saying."

"I—"

"Sshhh." Michael shushes them, and they both fall into silence, turning to look up at him. The oldest Archangel presses a finger to his lips, and turns back towards the boys, gesturing to their prone forms. "They're sleeping."

They both nod, and Raphael sets the jar back down on the table, turning to look at them both critically, he may have changed a tad from his previous disposition, but he would never become rusty when it came to his craft. "Their wings are filthy."

"Perhaps a grooming is in order." Michael intones once more, turning to look at the third born Archangel, Gabriel's distracted by all the notes tacked to the wall. "We don't have the necessary supplies, however."

"Nonsense." The Healer eyes the bottles on the table carefully, lifting a few to read the labels, and picks two out of the mass. "We have what we need."

…

Iaoth hums as he wakes, after what feels like a life time, rubbing his cheek against his warm pillow. He's so warm, so comfortable, he could just lay here all day, if they didn't have things they had to do. He frowns lightly, turning his head slightly, looking down at what he's laying on, it doesn't look like his pillow. His eyes widen when he realizes he's laying on someone's thigh, and he moves his arms, wrapped around their waist loosely, making to push himself up.

A hand presses between his shoulders and pushes him back down. "Don't move. I'm not done yet." He nods, not wanting to incite the Healer's sharp rage, and falls limp. His movements are gentle, he feels his fingers sifting through the feathers of his wings, tugging loose feathers free and straightening others, it's a gentleness he wouldn't come to expect from this new version of his older brother.

They hadn't known each other personally, but they all noticed when the Healer changed, everyone noticed.

Fingers tangle in the curls on the back of his head, scratching lightly at his scalp. "Go back to sleep, little brother, you need more then that." He wants to shakes his head, but it feels so nice, the scratching on his head, the fingers sifting through his feathers, he tries to fight it, but his eyes slide closed once more.

He wakes some time later, blinking into reality, and feels the weight of hands resting lightly on his shoulders, his cheek is still pressed to someone's thigh.

Iaoth yelps when a hand smacks his cheek. "Iaoth, they're back."

"Ow, Adonai."

A hand lifts from his right shoulder and smacks the offending appendage away. "Do not do that Adonai." The Healer's voice rumbles above him and the hand returns to resting on his shoulder. He looks up when he sees movement, and the Messenger smiles down at him, tilting his head.

"I don't think we've ever met before, kiddos."

"We're not in the higher classes. Why would we?"

Gabriel frowns lightly. "What class are you in?"

"We're miracle workers." _Miracle Workers._ The one class no one wanted to be in. Lower then the low. A subsection of a subsection of a subsection of a subsection of the Healer's flock.

Iaoth smirks lightly and raises a fist to his brother, Adonai reaches out in return, and their fists bump together. "Showed all those classist bitches though, didn't we, miracle workers _are_ good for something."

"Damn straight."

"We have _really_ got to pay more attention to the subsections." Gabriel looks between his two brothers, and they both nod, looking down at the two boys who had come so far all on their own, in spite of the reputation that came with their class assignment. "If there are any more like these two, we are sorely underestimating them, and that's an extreme disservice."

"Agreed." Raphael's voice rumbles above his head, the thumb of his right-hand rubs over the back of his neck, and Iaoth closes his eyes lightly, he's just so comfortable in the position he's in, and his wings feel _great_. "I'll have to do some resorting."

"It is rather interesting that so many know of Heaven's destabilization and it was only two young miracle workers who thought to act." Michael adds absently, winding Adonai's curls around his fingers, he's focused on it, his mind is captured as he watches the silky strands move. "That shows true character on their part. Taking action without instigation." He smiles when he feels the small boy rub his cheek against his thigh, and scratches lightly behind his ear, savoring the small purring sound he makes. "Some resorting is indeed in order."

Iaoth can't focus all too well, not when the hands on his shoulders turn, and fingers begin scratching softly, he wants to tell him to stop, that they have to get up, they can't delay their mission any longer, but it just feels _so_ darn _good_.

Perhaps a few more hours of sleep won't hurt.

…

_He smiles to Himself, Michael was pondering something, something he was keeping to himself for the moment, and what is better then an unexpected surprise, He could never read His sons, He'd created them that way, He didn't want to be able to, He did not want to read them like a book, He wanted the surprise and plot twists and everything that came with a good mystery. Michael was pondering something, and while He had a few ideas, even He wasn't sure._

_He leans back in His desk chair, pulling the book down with Him, and watches them all closely._

_He'd have brought them all back Himself, slowly but surely, there were most certainly things that needed to be worked out and sorted through, but these boys had beat Him to it, and He hadn't even seen it coming._

_What an interesting pair, Adonai and Iaoth, admittedly, He hadn't thought much of them at first, He loved them, yes, but He loved all of His children, they were just another pair in the bunch. But these two had surprised even Him, caught Him unawares, their creativity and character wasn't something He could write, it all came naturally._

_They'd been known as more than simple Miracle Workers rather soon._

_…_

They stand in the middle of a church in the middle of nowhere, in some town they hadn't bothered to learn the name of, Iaoth stands, dusting the chalk off his hands on his pant legs. Raphael had said he'd rub his shoulders when they got back, and he was looking forward to it, it was strange having his attention, they'd never garnered it before, but it was a good sort of strange, he liked it.

"Ready, dude?"

Adonai nods, standing in the middle of the circle they'd drawn, and grips the staff of the Morningstar's trident, he brings it around to stand before him, and grips it with both hands.

Iaoth busies himself with pouring the contents of their mason jar around the circle, they needed him unconscious when he arrived, it would be so much easier to transport him.

He closes his eyes, pushing his grace against the grace resting in the trident, it stirs softly but doesn't waken, and he pushes harder, sharper then before, and the resting grace flares, it's _freezing_ , and he shivers involuntarily at the feeling of it.

The other watches in awe as ice slowly stretches over the spires of the trident, down the staff, coating his brother's fingers, hands, arms, encasing him in ice. It's fluid though, moving freely, as his brother's eyes snap open, burning a bright red, just as the late Morningstar's had, and he slams the butt of the trident into the floor. Ice spreads over the floor, over the pews, up the walls, encasing the inner sanctum of the church. It solidifies into a silhouette at Adonai's feet, melting away to reveal features.

The blonde man is unconscious, just as they needed him to be, and Iaoth rushes forward to clip the collar around his neck. The sigils glow a bright icy hue and fade softly, Adonai groans softly as the ice melts from around him and leans forward against the trident. "I am _so_ cold."

"Dude, you were literally a huge piece of _ice,_ I'd be surprised if you weren't."

"You're carrying him back."

"I figured." Iaoth squats gripping the Morningstar's right wrist, he pulls him up over his shoulders, groaning under the weight as he stands. "Shit, ouch, fuck, what do these guys _eat_?" He continues to curse silently as he follows his brother out of the church to the car out back. "This motherfucker is _definitely_ going into the trunk."

…

"This douche canoe gets _two_." Iaoth proclaims as he locks a manacle around both of the second born Archangel's ankles. "Just 'cause."

"Dude, dude," Adonai calls out from Michael side. "He's waking up, watch out, man, stay vigilant."

"I'm literally standing in front of him, captain obvious, I can see that." He stares down at the Morningstar as he groans softly, his ice blue eyes blinking open, and he makes a face, pulls his fist back, and punches him straight in the face, there's two cracks, the Morningstar yelps and curses, and the miracle worker yelps and curses. Iaoth turns away from him, shaking his hand out, cursing under his breath. "Shit, fuck, shit, ow, _ow,_ ow, worth it, _worth it_ , shit, shit, shit storms!"

Raphael rolls his eyes, stepping away from the Messenger's side, catching the boy's hand as he waves it about, examining his fingers gently. "Well, that was an incredibly ignorant thing to do." He pokes at one of his knuckles, and the boy hisses, jerking back, but he holds firm. "You've broken two of your fingers."

"You can just heal it, right?" He looks up at the boy, and Iaoth smiles slightly, tilting his head. "Right?"

"I don't heal injuries brought on by _stupidity_ , boy." He looks back down to his hand. "But I'll wrap them." He tugs him forward. "Come."

Gabriel leans over the second oldest Archangel, grimacing, whistling under his breath. "Kid packs a punch, he _curved_ Luci's nose, wowza."

"Ooowwwwww." Lucifer blinks, reaching up to touch his nose, and jolts with a wave of pain. "What hit me?"

"A kid less than half your age."

Ice blue eyes blink open. "G—Gabriel?"

"Hey, bro, heard you got done in."

Lucifer curls his hand around his nose and stares, looking passed the Messenger to see the Healer, wrapping a boy's fingers, that's the one who punched him. "Raphael?" Emerald green eyes flit up to meet his for a moment before returning to watching the task at hand. His eyes travel over, widening at the sight. "Mike?"

"Hello, Lucifer."

The boy at his side waves a few fingers in greeting. "Hi. I'm Adonai. Sorry about Iaoth. He just doesn't like you."

"Understatement! _Ow!"_

"Hold still."

He looks down to his ankles, eyes widening at the manacles keeping him chained in place, and with his free hand, he feels up to the collar around his neck. "What?"

"You're our prisoner, bitch!"

Iaoth yelps when the Healer cuffs him over the back of the head. "Be quiet." And falls silent.

Raphael finishes with the boy and leaves him there, crossing around Gabriel to stand in front of him, he stares up at him, moving his hand when he smacks it away, and he does _not_ shriek lightly when the Healer grips his nose and tugs it back into place. "You're right, Gabriel, Iaoth does pack a surprisingly heavy punch."

"I'm a badass, of course I do."

Adonai snorts softly at the look the third born archangel sends to his brother.

Iaoth mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the invisible key.

Gabriel laughs softly under his breath.

Lucifer looks between them all, and then down to his binds, tilting his head curiously. "Why am I here and why am I bound?"

"Heaven is destabilized." The oldest Archangel informs the second oldest, and his head shoots up, eyes wide in disbelief. "As for why _you_ are bound, we didn't trust you to stay."

"Heaven's _what_?"

"Destabilized. From what we've heard."

Adonai nods at his side, scratching at his cheek lightly, watching his brother make faces at the Healer's back, smiling faintly, and adds absently. "There's little more then a dozen angel's left. Not enough Power to keep the lights on."

 _"What?"_ He looks over when he feels the air shift at his side as Michael turns to look at him. "You never said _that_."

"I didn't?" The young miracle worker makes a face. "I swear I did."

"I can assure you, you did _not_."

Rapheal turns to look at the one behind them, and Iaoth quickly evens his features, he doesn't want to know what the Healer would do if he found him making faces at him while his back was turned. "You told us very little about the _condition_ of the Host in general. All we've heard is that you've gathered us because Heaven is unstable. There are many things being left _un_ said."

"I agree, I'm not usually pretty observant of those sorts of things, but even I noticed that." Gabriel intones softly, softer then they're used to, and they turn to look at him. "There's little _more_ then a dozen of us left?"

Adonai and Iaoth exchange looks, Iaoth shakes his head, Adonai nods, they've locked themselves in a silent battle of wills in the form of a staring contest.

Michael clears his throat and they both turn to stare at him unblinkingly, he feels slightly unnerved by their unblinking stare, until Adonai loses, he blinks first, and Iaoth smirks in victory. "You _will_ tell us all there is to tell us."

The boys both exchange looks again, who are they to deny the _eldest_ Archangel's command, and turn back to look at him with unison nods. "You might want to sit down. It's a long story."

Micheal nods, sitting on the chair at Lucifer's right, Raphael takes his place at his left, and Gabriel settles in on the Healer's other side. The council reconvened, together once more, and they feel a shiver run down their spines at the four _powerful_ Archangels watching them expectantly.

Adonai makes a small noise and comes to sit at their feet, Iaoth follows after him, sitting at his side, crossing his legs under him. "It all started with the fall."

"The fall?" Gabriel tilts his head. "What fall?"

"Castiel worked with Metatron to close the gates of Heaven, and Hell, but we're focusing on our home here. He was Metatron's puppet, willingly helping him achieve his goal, I give him credit, he didn't know what Metatron's true intentions were, but still, he always has a hand in it."

Iaoth nods in tune with his brothers words, rubbing at his chin lightly. "His preconceived idea of the greater good usually coincides with what others want. _Especially_ his _favorite_ human."

Adonai nods in agreement. "The spell Metatron used cast the Host out of Heaven and locked the gates, no one could get in, hundreds of us died in the fall."

"I remember the fall, it hurt, everything _burned._ It felt like someone had poured Holy Water over my wings and lit them on _fire_." The smaller angel reaches over to squeeze his brothers hand, he'd been on Earth already when the fall had occurred, so he was spared, his brother had not been, his wings had been in a _horrid_ state. Iaoth looks up to the Morningstar. "Is that what it felt like when you fell too?"

Lucifer nods silently, watching them both carefully, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

"I'm sorry man," the taller youth looks down to his bandaged hand. "I don't like you. But I'd never wish that one _anyone_."

"Anyway," their attention shifts back to the smaller. "We're not sure how, but they managed to open the gates, and everyone was allowed back in."

They turn to look at the taller when he adds in. "Then, Castiel swallowed Purgatory, like the fool he is, he swallowed the Leviathan."

Michael inhales deeply.

"Called himself the new _god_ , minor _'g'_ , he doesn't deserve a capital _'G'_ , killed a priest, said he was praying too loud, killed _two thirds_ of Raphael's flock because they wouldn't follow him." Iaoth picks at the bandages around his fingers and the Healer nudges his hand with his foot, he looks up, and the elder shakes his head firmly. "Anyway, he challenged Death, and Death won, the leviathon got lose, that was fun."

"It was _messy_."

"It was _really_ messy." He nods in agreement with his brother's comment, absently, he leans forward, untying the Messenger's shoe. "Then, they killed Death, that was an experience, let Aunt free from Her prison. Father came back for a short while, Aunt killed a number of us, then they reconciled and left again."

Adonai rubs at his knee lightly. "Then, Lucifer's Nephilim was born, and he tried to lead Heaven."

Iaoth glares at the Morningstar, he really does not like him, he knows a douche when he sees one. " _He who hesitates, disintegrates."_

Lucifer frowns, and for once, feels a semblance of shame over come him. Had he known just how dire the situation was, perhaps he would have acted differently, but there was no turning back time to change it.

The taller boy falls silent to let his brother continue. "Lucifer and the Winchester's mother were trapped in an alternate dimension, she was brought back by Aunt, and the Winchesters took Lucifer's Nephilim."

Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel turn to look at the Morningstar in surprise.

"You had _sex_ with a _human_?"

They all turn to glare at the youngest Archangel, and Michael takes over. "We have a niece or nephew?"

"Nephew." Iaoth answers for him and Adonai nods, continuing on. "His name's Jack. Anyway, the Nephilim said _Castiel_ was his father, and when he asked about his true father, they gave him a bible to read, because that paints Lucifer's character _beautifully_." He picks at his big toe lightly. "The last Prince of Hell came back, the Winchesters and Castiel took the Nephilim to their bunker, massive place, one could get lost in there if they didn't know where they were going."

Gabriel hums lightly, he's been there himself. "You say that as if you've been there."

They both nod at him and Iaoth takes over. "Asmodeus tried to trick the Nephilim into releasing the Shedim, but he was stopped by Castiel and the Winchesters." He tugs on the Messengers shoe lace. "Asmodeus was _enhancing_ himself with Gabriel's grace, the pagans sold him out, no surprises there, he was his prisoner for _years_."

The Messenger flinches at the memory of it, and he feels the eyes of his three older brothers on him, but he looks down, he doesn't want to meet their eyes, he doesn't want to see the disappointment, at him being so weak and vulnerable.

"Gabriel, is this true?" Michael sounds pained, and he nods, his oldest brother makes a choked noise in his throat. "I will kill him."

"I will help." Lucifer intones darkly.

Raphael touches a gentle hand to the Messenger's cheek, frowning when he flinches away slightly. "Gabriel, we will talk about this more in depth at a later time. I will also be looking you over very carefully." He rubs his thumb over his cheek bone in a tender gesture that hadn't been seen since before the Fall and ensuing war. "I am sorry, little brother." The Messenger nods lightly, turning to offer him a small smile, the memory haunts him.

"Anyway," Iaoth interjects their moment and pushes on. "Uumm, where was I?"

"Gabriel was Asmodeus's prisoner."

"Oh, right, thanks bro, like I was saying, then Gabriel was freed by a British dude, Ketch?" He turns to his brother for clarification and Adonai nods. "Ketch, stole Gabriel out from under Asmodeus's nose and brought him to the Winchesters." He tugs on the Messenger's shoe lace again. "Gabriel tracked down Lucifer, who managed to get himself back, and trapped him, they bound him up and slit his throat to use him as a power source for keeping the gateway between worlds open, but Lucifer followed."

Adonai picks up for him. "The Nephilim finally got to meet his _real_ father." He glares at the Messenger. "Gabriel was a major douche and a shithead all mixed into one, called Lucifer a _cancer_ and said he loved _no one_ but himself, when it's known that Lucifer loved his family, in his own demented way, said the reason Father locked him away was because he was a cancer that was corroding humanity."

Iaoth glares at the Messenger. "He _cried_ when he thought he killed you."

"Gabriel made Lucifer cry—"

"Again."

"Iaoth, shut up! It's my turn to talk!"

"Sorry, sorry, calm down."

Adonai glared at his brother and Iaoth offers him a smile. "Anyway, the Winchesters and Castiel managed to get back to the rift, Gabriel sacrificed himself, they trapped Lucifer in that dimension with an evil version of Michael."

"Creepy guy."

" _Torturous_ guy."

They both share a nod. "Anyway, evil Michael and Lucifer made a pact to get over to our world, evil Michael tried to take over our world, Lucifer stole his Nephilim's grace, Dean Winchester allowed evil Michael to use him as a vessel to kill Lucifer, they all celebrated, left his body there to rot."

"Assholes."

" _Big_ assholes."

Iaoth nods. "Now, Heaven's on the verge of collapsing, there's barely enough power to keep the lights on, and everyone's freaking out. So, while everyone turned to Castiel for an answer, because he's apparently our _'all knowing savior'_ , we thought to ourselves, _'who was around when we were first being created?'_ , and light bulb, _the Archangels!"_

Adonai nods enthusiastically. "We figured, if anyone would know how to fix things, it would be those who were there at the beginning. So we did some research."

The taller boy looks sheepishly to the Healer, and Raphael purses his lips. "Raided your vaults. Sorry. We were desperate."

The smaller boy turns to the oldest. "We broke you out of the cage."

Iaoth looks to the others. "We woke you from your eternal sleep."

"How do you two know all of this?" Michael looks between the two of them and they exchange looks. "It's almost as if you were there."

They make sheepish faces and nod slightly.

"You _were_?"

"Nobody ever notices _miracle workers_."

Lucifer hums in amazement, knowing that these two had been there the entire time, and none of them had ever noticed, they'd been watching them for a while, it appeared. "We've _really_ got to pay more attention to the subsections."

Gabriel nods in agreement, pressing a hand to his chest. "That's what I said, brother."

Raphael hums lightly. "How did you two manage to get passed the traps I left at the entrance to my vaults."

"Who said we got passed them?"

"You went _through_ them?"

Iaoth nods lightly, rubbing at his arm. "Guy, you are _creative_."

Raphael stares at them both firmly. "Once we are through here, I will be giving you both a very _thorough_ examination." They both gulp, and Gabriel smiles slightly, _'rightfully so.'_ He starts when his older brother turns his attention to him. "You too, little brother." He gulps too.

Michael smiles at them. "All in good time." He regards the two youth's kindly. "You thought right, we do know how to create angels, or, I should say, bring back those that have been lost."

Lucifer nods in kind. "And we do know how to stabilize Heaven's core."

The Messenger smiles at them. "You've completed your mission, boys, we'll take things from here." They both seem to deflate slightly. "Why such long faces?" He leans over to tie his shoe. "You're coming with us, obviously."

They both lean forward. "Really?"

Michael smiles down at them. "Of course."

Raphael hums lowly. "I _already_ know you two are going to be _heaps_ of trouble."


	2. Chapter 2

The state Heaven was in was breathing taking, and not in a good sort of way, the only features that remained truly intact was the Axis Mundi and the Garden. The Infirmary's door are closed, and Raphael noticeably stares as the walk passed it, Lucifer's Choir Pantheon is in ruins, Gabriel's Aerie is in tatters, and they don't run into a single soul.

The two young miracle workers walk in front of them as they climb the stairs to the Throne Room, looking around in awe, they'd never been in this part of Heaven before, they wanted to take it all in. Adonai and Iaoth stop at the doors, turning to look at the four of them curiously, and Michael smiles, reaching over their heads to press his hands to the stone, they turn back to watch. His grace floods into the etches in the stone doors, a red light flowing through twists and turns, the massive locks thunder open, and he grunts as he heaves the doors open, they glide inward, and the two miracle workers look around in awe.

They're met with other angels as they enter the Throne Room, they gasp and back away, muttering between each other about the return of the four archangels.

Adonai and Iaoth stop short, letting them cut in front of them, they'd admit it, they were hiding behind the wall of Archangels. People weren't fond of miracle workers, they were tolerated, not liked, they knew their place.

Raphael looks around when he feels fingers curl around his arm, sighing at the sight of the young miracle worker peeking out from behind him, and reaches back with his other hand to pat at his head lightly.

Michael pats Adonai's head as he peeks around from behind him and addresses those at the head of the small group. "This is all that's left?"

" _Michael_."

He smiles at them all, raising his hands, he falls quickly into the role of Heaven's first Prince, the one who takes charge in the wake of their Father's absence. "Gather around my younger brothers and sisters, gather round."

One steps forward, the oldest Archangel smiles at her in greeting. "Hello, Duma."

"W-What are you doing here?" She swallows her unease. "Last we knew, you were trapped in the cage."

"I was." He nods, reaching out to touch her cheek lightly, frowning as she flinches under his fingers. "I was sought after and freed. Our brothers awoken from their slumber. We've come to restore what was lost."

"You…You know how to make angels?"

Michael shakes his head lightly. "No, but I do know how to wake them up." He pats her cheek. "Come, let's go to the Garden." He turns, nudging the small miracle worker in the Healer's direction. "Lucifer, you will come with me, I will need your help, Raphael, I do believe you had business to attend to."

The Morningstar nods, stepping up to stand at his side, and the Healer nods, curling his hands around the two young angels shoulders. "Yes, I do." Adonai and Iaoth look up at him and he glances down at them. "Come." And turns to spy the youngest Archangel. "You as well, Gabriel."

He guides the two young miracle workers around, knowing that his younger brother will follow, and leads them towards the doors as Michael and Lucifer lead the others to the other set of doors, out the back way.

Adonai and Iaoth exchange looks, they've had examinations before, quick and sparse, healers don't really pay much attention to anything that might be wrong with their kind, they're bandaged and sent on their way, not even provided pain relief or antibiotics, when they fell ill, they were ill for a long while. They'd never had an examination done by the _Archangel_ before, they never made it that high, they were never there long enough to catch his attention.

He guides them down the stairs from the Throne Room, down the Axis, and up the stairs to the Infirmary. The Healer reaches over them to pushes the doors open, they glide inward, and despite the carnage outside, the inside is still quite intact. He guides them over to a made-up set of beds. "You two will go first." He pushes them forward slightly. "Tops off."

"What?" Adonai turns to look at him with widening eyes and Iaoth curls his arms around himself. "Umm, no thanks?"

Raphael snatches the taller boy by the nose, squeezing firmly, but not harshly, and tugs him forward slightly. "Tops _off_." The boy's eyes widen in surprise and he reaches up to curl his fingers around his wrist.

Gabriel clears his throat lightly. "Raph, I don't think they're used to your type of examination; miracle workers aren't really looked lightly upon."

The Healer hums, squeezing the boy's nose once more before letting it go, Iaoth rubs at his nose pitifully and Adonai snorts. "You have not received adequate medical attention and I will change that now; my family is well taken care of."

They both stare at him. "We're….We're a part of your family?"

"Yes," his lack of hesitation makes them smile. "I need you to remove your tops."

The two boy's exchange looks and nod, Adonai pulls his long-sleeved shirt over his head, Iaoth pulls his vest off and tugs his long sleeve shirt over his head with him, they both set their clothes on the bed behind them. Raphael eyes them critically, rather on the thin side, something catches his eye and he steps forward, lifting the smaller boy's right arm, and runs his fingers over the runes stretching from the side of his belly button, he follows them around his side to his spine, where they end. "What's this?"

Adonai looks down to see what he's asking about and frowns. "It's nothing."

"I'm not blind, Adonai, I can clearly see they're not _'nothing'_."

"It was a bit of an experiment, really, nothing too bad, nothing to worry about."

Emerald green eyes flit up to meet his brown ones. "Don't think to tell me what I will and will not concern myself with." His eyes return to the runes carved into his skin. "These are banishing runes, why are banishing runes carved into your skin and wrapped around your side?"

"I was experimenting."

His eyes widen slightly as they gaze back up at the boy. " _You_ did this?"

Adonai nods lightly.

The Archangels hums deeply. "No more experimenting."

"But—"

_"No_ more experimenting."

"Yes, sir."

He squeezes the boy's side experimentally, and a ghost of a smile flashes over his features when he draws forth a small squeak, the boy curving away from his hand. "Don't call me that." He hums once more and nods. "Nothing else catches my attention, climb into that bed there."

Adonai nods, turning away from him when he let's go of his arm, and climbs into the bed he was told to, sitting tensely, the bed's comfortable, it's soft, squishy under him, he's never gotten to sit in one of these beds before.

Raphael spares him a glance. "Make yourself comfortable, it's a bed, it won't bite you."

He smiles lightly, settling back against the pillows, the archangel looks down at the blankets and he reaches out to pull the blankets up over himself.

The Archangel nods, turning to the other one, Iaoth smiles at him slightly and curls his arms around himself. "Don't be shy," he gently pulls his arms open. "I've seen all shapes and sizes." He turns when he feels a raise under his fingers, pulling the left arm around, he turns it over, and rubs his finger over a long-raised scar over the inner side of his forearm. "What happened here?"

His young friend falls silent, shuffling his feet slightly, and looks down to the floor. He looks up at the boy. "Iaoth."

The young miracle worker rubs at his nose lightly. "I did it."

"You did this to yourself?"

The youth nods. "I did."

"Might I ask why?"

Iaoth kicks his foot lightly. "I got into a disagreement with my superior, and when we were able to come back, Adonai was ordered to return, but I wasn't allowed."

Raphael watches him carefully. "You don't like being alone, do you?" He hums when the boy shakes his head. "You and your brother are rarely apart, are you?"

"We do everything together."

He rubs his hand over the long scar. "You'll never be on your own again." He looks him over critically, seeing nothing of great concern, and turns him to the bed beside the other. "Into the bed."

Iaoth nods, stepping away from him, and climbs in much like his brother and friend had.

The Healer comes to stand between their beds, a cart sits abandoned between the heads, he pulls the abandoned chair around, gesturing for the younger archangel to take the bed on the smaller youth's other side, and Gabriel nods, stepping around them to his intended destination. He tugs the cart forward and pulls the top drawer, pulling out several syringes. "I don't know if you're both up to date, I'll have to find your charts."

Adonai exchanges glances with his brother, both of them staring at the numerous syringes he's laid on top of the cart, ten in total, they assume it's five for both of them. He turns to the taller youth, uncapping his round, and reaches for his arm. The youth edges away from him. "Do you have to?"

"It'll be quick."

"I don't think so, mister."

The elder rolls his eyes, perhaps a tad fondly, Gabriel's not fooled, he knows when his brother is fond of someone, he's rather fond of these two, especially this one. He holds a hand out. "Hold my hand."

Iaoth doesn't seem to be all on board with this next course of action, but he takes the Healer's large hand in both of his, and squeezes tightly as his long fingers curl around his smaller ones. Despite the offer of comfort, he still whines when the needles prick into his upper arm, one after another, four in total, and he looks over when they stop, looking over at fifth and last one. "What about—"

"I'm afraid that one doesn't go in your arm."

He stares at the older angel. "What?"

"That one goes in a different place."

He feels as though he doesn't want to know, but he asks anyway. "Where's it go?"

Raphael squeezes his fingers lightly. "It's a thicker serum, this one goes in the rear."

He shakes his head. "Nope, no, not happening, I had one like that once and it was not a good experience, I'm sorry, partner, but it's not happening."

"I'm afraid it is, you can roll over willingly, or I can roll you over myself, but it will go in."

Iaoth shakes his head. "Nope."

"Oh, it's going in." The Archangel pushes him over with the hand the boy clutches to, expertly tugs the waist of his pants down, and sticks the needle in. Iaoth squeaks, arching slightly, and his grip on his hand tightens considerably. It's over and finished in a moment, he pushes the plunger, and pulls it out, turning to set it in the tray on top of the cart, allowing the boy to fall back over again. "Oh, don't cry," he reaches out with his free hand to wipe a tear away with a finger. "It was only a moment."

"An extremely _long_ moment."

"It was a normal sized moment." He tugs on his hand and the boy let's go, he reaches up to pat his cheek. "Don't be a baby."

"I'm not being a baby! Those really hurt!"

Raphael rolls his eyes, his brother's not fooled by his demeaner, it's a fond roll of the eyes. Even in this gruff state his brother's fallen into, he's still rather compassionate, it's just ingrained into who he is. "They aren't that bad."

"Let me give you one, we'll see what you say then!"

"Now, you're just being overdramatic." He pats the boy on the cheek again and presses his hand to his chest, pushing him down against the pillows. "I'm through with you, you can relax."

"That's a relief."

The Archangel rolls his eyes again and turns to the other boy, scooting closer to him, his smirk fades when he realizes it's his turn, and a smirk grows on his brother's face. "Your turn."

Adonai gulps softly. "Can I hold your hand too?"

He nods, holding his hand out to the youth, and he curls his hands around his, hugging his hand to his chest tightly, he's uninhibited being one hand less, he pulls the needle caps off one by one with his teeth, fluidly sticking him in the arm, pushing the plunger, and moving on to the next. The young miracle lets go a small whine, and he squeezes the youth's fingers, going through his round quickly.

And then, he reaches for the last. "Are you going to be much easier than your brother for this one?"

"Can I still hold your hand?"

"Yes, you may still hold my hand."

Adonai nods, and willingly rolls up onto his side, the Healer nods in approval and leans forward, tugging his pants down, he slides the needle in, the boy squeaks softly and arches slightly, he pushes the plunger, and pulls it out, it's all over with in less then a minute. He tugs the boy back around, and sighs, reaching forward to swipe away a tear on his cheek. "No need for tears."

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one being poked."

He rolls his eyes fondly. "I've had my fair share, don't you worry." He squeezes his fingers lightly. "You're done, you can relax."

"I am?"

The Archangel nods. "You are. You both did well."

"Well enough for them to get a sweet, Raph?"

The Healer rolls his eyes at his younger brother's antics, but nods, digging through the drawers on the cart, he withdraws two lollipops, holding one out to one boy and the other out to the other boy, they take the offered sweet completely mystified, as though they'd never received such treatment before.

Raphael sits back in his chair. "That will do for now, I will have to find your charts, and we will take further action from there." They all look over as bodies begin to trickle into the massive room, the elder two Archangels fall in with them, their task having been completed.

Michael looks between both boys, Lucifer does the same at his side, watching them savor their rewarded sweet, and smiles at them all fondly. "How do your new young patients fair?"

"Nothing too concerning to be seen." The Healer looks between the two boys, they're exchanging different hand signals silently, and reaches over to smack the taller of the two on the leg. "I know sign language. I am not cruel and capricious." He returns to answering the oldest Archangel's inquiry. "I will not know for sure until I can locate their charts."

"Are they bedridden, or can we show them home?"

Raphael purses his lips for a moment but shakes his head. "No, I didn't see anything that requires them to stay here, we can take them."

The oldest archangel nods, clapping his hands lightly. "Come, boys, it's time we show you your new home."

Iaoth and Adonai nod, scurrying up out of the bed, slipping their tops back on. Gabriel stands from the bed he's sat on, thanking anyone that was listening that he was spared, for now, and the Healer pushes himself up to stand behind the two boys. The two young miracle workers stare up at the oldest Archangel, and Michael smiles, gesturing for them to follow, as he turns around. "Come." Guiding them forward. He guides them out of the Infirmary, down to the Axis, and up the street. They're led to a gate, to which Michael pulls open, and he leads them up a dirt path.

It's a large house, but not overly so, one level, it's open and spacious. "This is our Villa." The Archangel pulls the door open, Gabriel skirts around them and darts forward, through a spacious living room, a small kitchen, and down a hall, disappearing inside a room.

"This is the living room," he guides them through, Lucifer and Raphael following behind. "That is the kitchen." And then to the hall, the door on the right, Gabriel's laying face down on the bed. "Gabriel's room." Across the hall. "Raphael's room." Iaoth peeks inside. They move on to the next set of doors. "Lucifer's room," the door on the left. "My room." The door on the right, Adonai peeks inside. They move on to another set of rooms. "These are the spare rooms." He turns them to the one on the right. "This one will be yours."

They turn to look at him. "Ours?"

Michael nods. "Yours. You'll be staying with us, of course."

The two of them exchange glances. "We will?"

"Yes," Raphael cuts in for him, and they turn to look at him. "If you two managed to get yourselves into all that trouble, you clearly need more supervision."

"In other words," Lucifer adds. "They've grown fond of you and want to keep you around."

The oldest Archangel nods lightly. "Yes, there's that too." He claps his hands lightly. "I will begin preparing supper, you two make yourselves at home, one of us will come get you when supper is ready."

The others take that as their dismissal and part, disappearing into their own rooms, Michael smiles at them kindly and turns, making his way down the fall for the kitchen.

Iaoth exchanged a glance with Adonai and they both step into their knew room. Adonai crosses over to look out the window, and Iaoth falls backwards on the bed, his arms spread wide. "Can you believe this, Adonai?"

"It's too good to last." His brother, ever the pessimistic one, and he turns to look at him. "No one likes our kind."

"They don't seem like all them others."

"Not yet anyway."

He sits up. "Just give them a chance."

Adonai turns to look back at him, stepping away from the window to sit with him on the bed, he nods lightly. "I will. I like Michael. He's not what I expected."

The other boy nods. "I like Raphael. He seems like he could be fun if he wasn't so grumpy all the time."

"If the last thing I saw was Castiel, I'd be grumpy too."

He laughs lightly. "Touche."

Adonai elbows him in the side. "You just need to lighten him up with some of your charm."

"I'll bring him around." He rubs his shoulder lightly. "It's my next big mission."

"I wish him luck then."

He turns to glare at his brother, Adonai smiles up at him slightly, waving a few fingers. "I'm not that bad."

"Bro, I've known you all my life, you're not foolin' me."

Iaoth settles a glare on him.

"Boys," they both look over at the call, Gabriel smiles at them, gesturing down the hall. "Suppers ready."

They both nod, standing from their bed, and follow him as he turns to lead them down the hall. Michael's set a pot on the table, Lucifer and Raphael are already seated, Gabriel claims a seat between them, watching the oldest archangel serve their meal. Iaoth claims a seat at the Healer's side, the Archangel spares him a quick glance as he takes a sip from whatever he's made for himself in the mug he holds, before turning back.

Adonai smirks at him lightly, and he glares, there's a shuffle and a yelp when he kicks him in the shin, they all turn to look at the smaller boy. "Everything alright, Adonai?" Michael asks. He nods, curling a hand around his mouth as he bites back a curse and glares at his brother across from him, Iaoth smirks this time, leaning back in his chair. They look between the two of them, but ultimately decide against inquiring further, and return to their previous positions.

They both thank the oldest when he serves them a bowl, of what appears to be stew, and dig in when he says they can, there's a tad bit of concern in his tone when he does, as though he doesn't understand why they'd been waiting to eat their supper. He claims his seat between Adonai and Lucifer, taking a bite of his creations, and hums at the taste.

They all eat in silence for a few minutes, until Michael has enough of it, and addresses them at large. "What is on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"I plan on taking inventory of everything." Raphael scoops up a spoonful. "Seeing to my healers."

Gabriel nods in agreement. "Start the process of fixing my Aerie."

Michael hums, turning to look between their two young guests. "What of you two, what trouble will you be getting into?"

Adonia continues eating, and kicks his brother under the table, Iaoth yelps, dropping his spoon, ignoring the eyes on him as he reaches down to rub at his shin. "Probably settles in for some grace harvesting."

"Grace harvesting?" Michael intones softly. "I've never heard of that, what does _'grace harvesting'_ entail?"

Iaoth rubs at his mouth lightly. "Well, when the Infirmary is running low on medicinal grace, as I suspect it is, they usually come to us miracle workers to replenish their supplies. Most others fight them on it, but Adonai and I have figured it's better just to go along with it then not, all it does is make us really tired, no harm done."

"No harm done, my foot." The Healer intones deeply. "Extreme grace depletion can have lasting effects. How long has this been a practice?"

The boy at his side shrugs, chewing on his bite, and swallows. "For as long as I can remember, really."

"I am both astounded and disgusted at the same time." He reaches for his mug and takes a sip. "I will put an end to this practice immediately." He turns to look at him and Iaoth turns to meet his gaze. "I will check the levels of your grace in the morning, if it is low, we will begin replenishing it immediately."

"I believe there is much that goes on that we are not aware of." Lucifer looks between them. "We have really got to integrate into the lower classes more. Too many secrets."

Michael nods. "I agree."

Iaoth looks to the archangel next to him. "How do you check someone's grace?"

Raphael turns to look at him. "With my own."

"Why not do it tonight, then?"

"I am tired." He takes a sip from his mug. "I would not have the focus I need." He turns back to his bowl and leans over as he scoops up another spoonful.

The young miracle worker looks over when he feels something nudge his foot, Adonai quirks an eyebrow and nods slightly to his side, his eyes flicking from him and to the Healer's mug, daring him to take it. He shakes his head, Adonai's eyes flick over to it again, and he shakes his head once more, though Lucifer said he was fond of them, he doesn't want to test just how much he is. Adonai nudges his foot again and narrows his eyes, as though to say _'coward'_ , and he bristles slightly, because he's no coward.

_I'll show you._ He sets his spoon down and reaches over, feeling the eyes watching him, and picks up the Healer's mug, leaning back against his seat, he takes a sip, staring his brother in the eyes. It's sweet and warm, there's a definite taste of honey, but something else, not as sweet as the honey, but still sweet, and he takes another sip.

Michael chuckles softly. "It's been some time since you've had a young one stealing your mugs, hasn't it?"

"Indeed, it has." His eyes widen when he realizes what's he's done, Adonai smirks slightly, and Iaoth turns to look at the archangel who's mug he's stolen. Raphael looks amused, leaning back in his chair, and raises an eyebrow when their eyes meet. "Do you like it?" He nods and takes another sip. "Lavender and honey. It's best when served warm." He nods, holding the mug out, and the Archangel waves the fingers of his right hand at him. "Keep it, I'll make another."

….

They decided the next morning that they'd go their separate ways, Adonai had asked if he could go with Michael and Iaoth had asked the Healer if he could come with him, both had said they could, and they followed dutifully.

Iaoth sticks close to his side as they make their way up the massive stairs, there are others around, and he feels a bit more protected the closer he is to the older angel, if he curls his fingers in the back of the Archangel's tunic as they draw closer, and he feels it, there's no mention of it made.

Other's are sweeping up the shattered glass from the large windows in the front, and they look up at their arrival, staring at them in surprise. He hears Raphael say something, but he's too distracted by the enormity of the situation to really take it what he said. They step forward, through the massive doors, and he reaches back with his right hand, fingers curling around the hand curled in his tunic, and tugs him forward, until they're walking side by side, squeezing his hand comfortingly as they step forward through the crowd milling about, picking up overturned carts, making up beds with new sheets and blankets.

" _Raph!"_

Iaoth looks up at the call, skimming the crowd for the one responsible, watching as a man breaks through the crowd, running their way. The Archangel let's go of his hand to catch him as he plows into him, curling around him tightly, burying his face in his shoulder. Raphael hugs him close, his right-hand curling around the back of his head, holding him tightly. He shuffles his feet slightly at this clearly private moment and turns away when he hears an utterance of _'papa'_ , feeling as though he's intruding on something that shouldn't be intruded on. He hums to himself when he hears them whisper to each other, he really doesn't want to intrude, but he doesn't want to leave the Archangel's side either.

He's pulled from his thoughts, his humming falling silent, when a hand curls over the top of his head and guides him back around. "This is one of our new young ones, Iaoth, this is Oren, he's the Captain of my Virtues."

The man smiles at him, long blonde hair in a bun on top of his head, he looks him over critically, much like the Archangel had when he'd given them their examination, it must be a thing healers just do naturally. "It's nice to meet you, Iaoth."

Raphael rubs his head lightly and he nods. "Nice to meet you too."

"Oren," the Healer turns the man's attention away from him. "Do you have any idea as to where the charts for the miracle workers may be?"

The Virtue frowns lightly, rolling on the balls of his feet, clearly thinking it over, and the amount of time that it takes makes the Archangel frown slightly. "I think they're in one of the back rooms, though, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have one, I make charts for all my patients, but I know some don't make them for the lower classes, they're never usually around long enough to garner the making of one."

Iaoth looks up at him when the Archangel hums lowly, clearly not pleased by this revelation, and he nods slightly. "Would you mind helping me search?"

"Not at all, I'd be glad to join you."

Raphael steps forward, guiding him forward with fingers curled around the back of his neck, and the Virtue falls in step on his other side. "Oren, do you know anything of this _'grace harvesting'_ practice?"

Oren shakes his head slightly. "Not really, I heard rumors of it, but never managed to confirm it's actual practice myself. If anyone partakes in it, they are rather good at keeping it a secret."

He tunes them out as they walk back to a hall containing a series of rooms, looking around as they turn into one, where two stacks of boxes are piled up, not too high, there's maybe six boxes altogether. Oren takes one, and the Healer takes one, setting them down on a long table, and pulls the tops off, beginning their searching through the boxes.

"Iaoth, make yourself useful, search through that box there."

He nods, picking up the box on the top of the stack. "What am I looking for?"

"You and your brother's charts."

Iaoth nods, sifting through the file folders. "What if we can't find them?"

"Then, we start you a new one."

He doesn't quite like the way that sounds. "What exactly does that entail?"

Raphael spares him a glance, and he actually smiles at him, whether it's a kind smile, or because he's a cruel bastard and likes the answer to that question, he doesn't know. "More poking, questions, physical examination."

His eyes widen, at the mere thought of more poking, and he turns back to his box, sifting through quickly. He ignores them when he hears them chuckle.

"Not a fan of the poking?"

"No," the Archangel's amused "Not a fan of the poking." Iaoth feels him nudge him in the side with his elbow. "And I'm not a _'cruel bastard'_ as you put it. I care deeply for my family and will do everything in my power to ensure they are in perfect health." He turns to look up at him with wide eyes, surprised, he doesn't think he said that out loud. "You didn't need to say it out loud. You're projecting your thoughts, anyone who was paying attention would have heard you, and I'm always paying attention."

He hears Oren snort when his face burns red, and he averts his eyes, looking back to the box he's searching through. He can feel the amusement rolling off of the Healer next to him and decides he's going to ignore him.

They search through all the boxes, and he feels dread settle in his belly when they come up empty handed and turns to look at the two of them in horror, he should have gone with Adonai and Michael, bad things always happened when they went their separate ways.

Oren crosses his arms, curling a hand over his mouth, and he glares at him for a moment, before horror retakes his expression, he knows he's hiding a smile, he's not dumb, he finds this whole thing extremely amusing.

Raphael straightens, smiling down at him. "Well, that answers that, it appears we're starting from scratch." He rubs his hands together. "What fun."

"Ha," he waves his hands, backing up a step, holding his hands up defensively. "No, thanks, but no. I'm as fit as a fiddle. Healthy as a horse." He points at the door over his shoulder, watching the two healers advance slowly, he feels like a cornered animal, he has to remind himself not to start swinging, what'll happen if he punches an Archangel, I mean, he's already drugged him and chained him to a chair, what's the worst that could happen, does he really want to find out, that seems like a bad idea masking itself as a good idea. "I, uh, think I here Adonai calling me, should probably see what he wants, I'm gonna go." He backs up another step, the doors still open, he just has to make it to the doorway, and he can bolt down the hall _(can one outrun an Archangel? Would he break his hand if he punched him? Does he want to find out?)_. "It's been fun, real great, we should do it again some time. But I've got places I need to be, so I'm gonna scoot."

Iaoth turns to bolt, he's confident, his fingers just curl around the doorframe, when arms curl around his waist and he's snagged up off his feet. He kicks out, he's not going peacefully, not if he's going to be poked again, he's gonna start feeling like some sort living breathing pin cushion, he just knows it.

He falls still when Raphael's voice rumbles in his ear, so, that's who caught him. "Not so fast, little one, we've got business to attend to." He chuckles softly. "And, yes, it would be a very _bad_ idea for you to attempt to strike me."


	3. Chapter 3

Adonai follows after the oldest Archangel dutifully, looking around as they make their way down the Axis, he’s never been up this way before, he wants to see it all. He ignores the looks and sneers he gets, he’s accustomed to them, but he doesn’t see the Archangel look back at him when he catches sight of them, Michael hums softly and looks back ahead, stepping up the first stair that leads up to his training field.

“Micha!”

He comes to a stop when someone darts forward, through a crowd of warriors, and crashes into the Archangel. Michael laughs softly, curling his arms around them, curling his right hand around the back of their head. He turns away when they start whispering to each other, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment that he wasn’t meant to be intruding on, turning away from them, he hums to himself as he watches the warriors go through their motions, it’s like their dancing, it’s so fluid like.

The youth hears Michael chuckle softly, and he looks up when a large hand curls over the top of his head, turning him back around. “Nisroc, I want you to meet one of our young ones.”

Nisroc, _Nisroc,_ as in _Captain of the Powers,_ that Nisroc.

A man smiles down at him, he’s tall, taller then him anyway, which isn’t much a feat, and waves a few fingers at him in greeting. “Hello, little one.”

“Oh, my, _God._ ” He’s staring, is he staring, he thinks he’s staring. “You’re _Nisroc_?”

The man chuckles softly, nodding, rubbing his hands down his belly. “That’s me, expecting someone else?”

“No, no sir, I just, wow, I never thought I’d actually get to _meet_ you!” Adonai feels like he might start gushing, he used to watch the Powers train, when he was up in Heaven, nobody noticed miracle workers being there, so he was never shooed away. “You’re _amazing_! I’ve watched you guys train for the longest time! You’re so fluid, it’s like you’re all dancing, you guys are _amazing_!”

Michael chuckles softly, scratching at the top of his head lightly, and looks up to his Captain. “It appears you all have a bit of a fan.”

“I’ve never seen anyone watching us train before.” The Captain tilts his head, looking from the boy to his Archangel. “Is he looking to join your flock?”

“No, no sir, no,” he waves his hands, and the elder’s eyes turn back to him. “I would never insult Michael in such a way. I’m a miracle worker, no one ever notices us being there, we tend to stick to the shadows.”

“A miracle worker?”

“Oh, my, God, I’m so sorry, sir!” He steps back a step. “I didn’t think about how insulting that might be. One of _us_ watching someone like _you_. That’s so out of place, I overstepped, I just really wanted to see. It’s such an insult, I used to mimic you, pretending I was a warrior too, I’m so sorry, I’ll never do it again!”

“What are you sorry about?” Nisroc seems confused, Michael frowns down at him, but doesn’t say anything on the matter, now is not the time, he would wait until they were in the privacy of the Villa to address this. “There’s nothing wrong with watching, you should have come down, it’s much easier to see up close.” He smiles slightly. “You mimicked us?”

“Mhmm.”

“Interesting.” The Power looks up to the Commander. “Sir, might I take this young one and see what he’s made of?”

Michael chuckles softly, nodding his head, and pets his hand down the back of the boy’s head. “Of course, don’t underestimate this one, he’s a crafty individual.”

…

He watches with wide eyes as he pulls out all the supplies he’s going to need, the small tray on the top of the cart slowly filling with shots, he contemplates making a break for it, but with the Archangel sitting in front of him, and the Virtues Captain standing behind him, he knows he’ll never make it.

Raphael passes half of them to the Virtue and he looks between them, as Oren pulls the chair between the two beds closer for him to sit in, uncapping his assortment of injections. Iaoth curls his arms around himself, curling his hands around his bare upper arms, he may not be able to run, but he’ll block it, those aren’t going in, none of them, not a single one.

“No way, nope, not gonna happen!” He shakes his head vehemently. “There’s like a thousand of those there. I don’t think so. Nice try. But it’s not gonna happen.”

“Iaoth, move your hands.”

“Nope, no, sorry, but no.”

Raphael sighs softly. “You’re the one who’s prolonging this, we’ll be over in a minute.”

“Nope. Not moving.”

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

“That would mean I’d have to move, and I’m not moving, so no.”

The Healer sighs, looking around the boy, to his Virtue. “Oren, if you would?”

He nods, setting his collection down in the tray on the cart next to him, and reaches around, curling his fingers around the boy’s wrist, he pulls his hand away.

“Wait, no, hey, wait, wait, wait, this isn’t fair!” Iaoth shrieks when the first needle slides in, jumping away from the Healer on his other side, Raphael leans forward, snagging him by the waist of his trousers, and tugs him back in place, sticking him again. “Ow! Ow, stop! Ow! Not cool! Ow! Stop! Ow! Raph—ow!” He feels tears coming to his eyes when the Archangel leans forward again, curling his fingers around his other wrist, pulls his hand away, and Oren sticks the first of his into his arm. This isn’t fair, this was torture, he feels like this is some sort of revenge for drugging the Archangel, but he can’t be sure. “Ow! Ow, Oren! Ow! Please, stop! Ow! Ow! Stop! Ooowwww!” He feels a tear slip down his cheek, his arms are sore, and shakes his head when the Archangel gestures back to the Virtue. “Oren, if you would once more?”

The Virtue nods, leaning over, curling his fingers around his ribs, he pulls him over. “Hey, wa-wait, what!” He shakes his head when he feels the waist of his trousers being pulled back, and a needle pricks into his cheek. “Oooowwwww! Oowww! Stop! Stop it! Ooowwww!” More tears fill his eyes, dripping down his cheeks, and he kicks slightly, pushing against the Virtue holding him up, as needle after needle slides into his cheek. “Ooooowwwiiieeeee! Stoooop! Ooowwwww! Raaaaph! Ooowwww! Stoooop it!”

“Alright, Oren, you can let him go.”

Now his arms and his cheek are sore, and he sniffles, rubbing at his eyes miserably, trying to staunch the tears. The Healer catches his right wrist, and pulls his arm around, slipping the needle of an IV into his vein, he cries out, he wants them to stop, it hurts, they’re hurting him, just stop.

“Oh, it’s alright.” Something soft rubs over his cheek, fingers curl under his chin lightly and turn his head around, his eyes meet the emerald green of the Healer’s, they’re soft, warm, and he rubs at his cheeks with a cloth, cleaning up the tears. “We’re done, that wasn’t so bad, you did great.”

“E-Easy for y-you to say!”

“I know, it was quite mean, we should have warned you.” He leans over to stuff the cloth back in his pocket. “But, we’re done, this IV will supply you with grace, you were running quite low, it’ll take a few hours, you’ll need a few bags, but no more poking.”

“P-Promise?”

“I promise.” Raphael rubs his cheek lightly and turns to the cart, reaching into the first drawer, he withdraws a small candy bar and holds it out to him. “A treat, for doing so well.”

Iaoth takes the candle bar, rubbing at his nose with the back of his left hand, and rips the wrapper open carefully, taking a small bite, testing the waters, per say. He hums and takes another bite, he likes it, he whines softly and turns to look back at the Healer. “My arms and butt hurt.”

“I’m afraid they’re going to be a bit sore for a short while, nothing much we can do about that.” He turns, pulling out another candy bar, and holds it out to him. “Here, for being so brave.” Iaoth takes that one too, curling it in his fingers, he looks down when Oren leans over, tugging the blankets up around his waist, and he sets the second candy bar down in his lap, taking another bite of the one his hand. He reaches up with his right hand, to scratch at his head, and whines when it tugs, more tears coming to his eyes.

“It’s alright, no more tears now, you’re a big strong boy.” The Healer lowers his right arm gently, laying it against his side, facing up. “Keep this arm straight and it’ll keep from pulling.” He nods, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his left hand, sniffling softly, and takes another bite from his candy bar. Raphael reaches up for him, scratching softly at the side of his head, and he sighs comfortably, leaning into the touch. “There, better now?” He nods slightly, sniffling once more, his arms and butt cheek are still sore, but they’re starting to fade now. “You rest here for a while, I’m going to go check on a few others, see if anyone needs assistance, and I’ll be back to change the bag on your IV and check in one you, alright?”

Iaoth nods again, rubbing at his nose with the back of his left hand, Raphael sighs deeply, leaning over to fish the cloth out of his pocket once more, and holds it up against his nose. “Give a good blow.” He nods, blowing his nose into the cloth, leaning forward slightly as he rubs his nose clean. “Better?”

He nods again, and the Archangel hums, stuffing the cloth back into his pocket. “Sorry for being a baby.”

The Archangel waves a few fingers at him lightly, dismissing his apology gently, and stands from the chair he’s sitting on. “It’s of no matter. You’re no baby, anyone would tear up from the number of injections you took, you did rather well, considering your dislike for them.” He pets his head lightly, are a moment of hesitation, and smiles down at him, Oren watches closely, smiling at his Archangel’s smile, it was nice to see it once more, it had disappeared some time ago. “You’d did great. Oren will stay with you, he’s rather great company to have, you’ll find.”

Iaoth nods, watching the Archangel turn and disappear in the crowd of healers, after a gentle pat on his cheek, and takes another bite from his candy bar. It’s yummy, a nice treat, and he takes another bite.

“So, you’re a miracle worker, huh?” He turns to look at the Virtue, averting his eyes slightly, preparing himself for the insults and such that usually accompany the revelation of his being a miracle worker. Oren simply hums, there’s no insults, and he chances a glance up, he smiles at him, and he returns the smile. “What’s it like?”

“What?” No ones ever asked that before and he blinks. “What?”

“What’s it like, being a miracle worker?”

“Well, umm,” he rubs at his cheek with the back of his left hand and leans back against the pillows, waiting to be yelled at for it, and is mystified when he’s not. “It’s not so bad. We do little things, you know, little miracles here and there. I once saved a little girl from drowning, that was cool, her mom was so grateful, she happy, I like seeing it when they’re happy with what we do.”

“That sounds cool, you’re all rather interesting, you’re like the healers of mankind, sort of like we’re the healers of the angels.”

Iaoth looks down at his lap, staring at the candy bar sitting there, and shakes his head. “It’s a living. We’re just doing parlor tricks, little interventions here and there, most think it’s a waste of time and grace. Sort of like we’re betraying our own kind, I guess, I’m not sure what exactly they feel about it, but I know it’s not good things.” He shrugs. “Most think of us as some sort of traitor, wanting to help mankind instead of our own, I don’t know, it’s just, they deserve to be helped, you know, and someone needs to do it.”

“Oren,” he falls silent at that voice, he knows who it is, he’s the one that always came to harvest his grace. “What is _he_ doing in one of our beds, someone else might need it, why soil it with the likes of one of _them_?”

The young miracle worker flinches, they were people, they were merely _‘them’_ , it was like none of them even had names, they never addressed them by it.

Oren frowns as the younger angel’s flinch, turning to look up at the healer that had caused it, and, admittedly, he’s surprised by the light in their eyes, there’s so much detest in them, and for one young angel. “He is resting while he takes in grace, Purah.”

“You’re _giving_ one of _them_ grace?” Purah steps forward, around the edge of the bed, and curls his fingers around the dark bag hanging on a hook behind his shoulder. “The _Healer’s_ grace at that?” Iaoth blinks, he hadn’t known that, and he turns to seek the Archangel out with his eyes, he was feeding him his _own_ grace. “That’s a waste of perfectly good grace, I don’t know what he’s thinking, someone much more important then one of _them_ might need that.” He turns towards the young miracle worker, glaring down at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself, stealing our grace, diverting the Archangel’s attention from those more deserving.” Purah closes the line and leans over, and he whines slightly, yelping when he tugs roughly on the IV, yanking it out none to gently. “ _They’re_ better served _donating_ their grace. Put it to good use. Harvesting them is much better then supplying, that’s all _they’re_ good for, is harvesting.”

“Purah, you’re overstepping you’re position.” Oren rises from his chair, and he watches him step around the edge of his bed, Purah smacks him on the head sharply, and Iaoth starts. “Avert your eyes.” Oren catches his wrist when he makes to strike the youth again, and tugs on it sharply, Purah turns to look at him with wide eyes. “You’re overstepping, Purah, Raphael himself gave him that IV and that grace, it’s his supply to do with what he chooses, and anyone, no matter their station, gets grace when they are as low as he is.” He takes the IV line from the healer’s hand, let’s go of his wrist, and drags him forward by the collar of his tunic. “ _And_ , if I _ever_ find out you’ve harvested grace from _anyone,_ I will personally see to it that you are _dismissed_ from our services.” He tugs him around and shoves him away. “Now, go back to your duties, if I were you, I’d pray to Father that I don’t _inform_ the Archangel of your treatment and behavior, _especially_ to one he’s so _fond_ of.”

Purah’s eyes widen and they look around for the Healer, when he spots him, he grows pale, thinking of what Raphael might do if he ever found out of his actions. They were just doing what was best, thinking of the Host, and their betterment.

Oren shoves him again. “Get lost.” And he darts forward, disappearing back into the crowd, Iaoth turns to look at him when he sits in the chair that the Archangel had vacated just minutes prior. “I’m sorry, Iaoth, but I have to stick it back in.” The youth whines, but nods, looking away as he slides the needle back in, tapping it back in place, and looks back once it’s in, taking another bite of his candy bar, watching as Oren turned to open the line once more, grace flowing down the tube and into his vein.

The Virtue sets another candy bar in his lap, he looks down at it for a moment, before looking up at the man. He smiles at him. “For being so good.” He finishes his first candy bar, and looks around, the waste basket is too far away from him. Oren holds his hand out. “Here, I’ll throw it away.” He places the wrapper in his hand, and watches as Oren turns, dropping it in the waste basket, turning back to open another one for him, Iaoth thanks him softly and takes it, taking the first bite.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense.”

“You really didn’t.” He takes another bite of his candy bar. “I’m used to it, anyway.”

Oren looks up at him, frowning in displeasure. “You shouldn’t be. It’s wrong. Raph would have a cow if he knew that’s how you were being treated this way, it’s shameful, anyone who would treat you in that manner should be ashamed.”

“It’s just normal.” Iaoth shrugs lightly. “No one really likes us.”

“It shouldn’t be normal. It’s wrong. It shouldn’t be happening at all.” Oren leans back in his chair. “How long have you had your grace harvested.”

“Oh, for as long as I can remember, Purah was the one who always did it to me, Shoftiel harvested Adonai’s. We did it willingly, it was better than putting up a struggle, they’re not above roughing you up a bit when you put up a struggle.” Iaoth takes a bite from his candy bar. “My friend, he’s like a brother to me, Tagas, he puts up a fight. They’re a bit rougher with him then they are the others because he said he wants to be a healer; they tell him the only way he’s able to help is by giving his grace because he hasn’t got any training.”

“They should have offered to train him.”

The youth shrugs. “They never do, they say he’s not worthy enough, that all he knows how to do is perform little parlor tricks as a miracle worker, he wouldn’t be fit enough to be a healer. He was born and given to a miracle worker to be raised by, that’s all he’s ever known, but he’s willing to learn, he always says he’s willing to learn.” Iaoth takes another bite. “They say we’re useless, but it’s hard to be useful, when you’re never given the chance.”

Oren frowns, knowing there was someone who wanted to make a difference, who just wants to help people, and never being given the chance, irks him. They’re all in the same flock, but he’s starting to see that there is a stark difference in how they are treated, it’s a shame to say, but he’s getting the feeling he’s been living in a bubble.

“I heard there was a commotion over here.” Raphael returns before they realize it, charts tucked in one arm, and leans over Oren’s shoulder to check on the IV, reaching over to rub the youth’s head lightly. “Are you alright, Iaoth?”

“I’m okay.” The young angel assures. “Oren was here.”

“That he was.” His skillful eyes catch the extra treat. “I see he gave you another treat.”

“He said it was because I was so good.”

The Archangel hums. “Give him another, Oren, for the mistreatment, a start, for the reparations he deserves from this unwarranted mistreatment.”

“Iaoth!” They all turn at the call of his name, watching another youth jogging up to them, bright green eyes shining. “Dude, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I knew you could do it! Everyone else can suck it!” He leans over the foot of the bed and Iaoth grins, leaning forward to bump his fist against the others. “Did my concoctions work?”

“So,” Raphael drawls lowly. “It was you who created those potions?”

Iaoth grins when the color fades from his friends face. “Don’t worry about it Tagas, he’s a big softie.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll show you just how soft I am, little one.”

Tagas turns to stare at the Archangel, his eyes wide, and backs up a step. “Y—Y—You’re _Raphael_.”

“That, I am.” The Archangel hums. “I heard your name to be _‘Tagas’_?”

Oren taps his chin lightly. “You’re the one that wants to be a healer?”

Tagas swallows thickly. “I—I’ve said that before, but I never meant any insult by it, I—I just want to help people.” He waves his hands at the Archangel cautiously. “I swear, I meant no insult by it, sir, I swear, I won’t think of it no longer.”

“What’s insulting about wanting to be a healer?” Raphael sounds confused, slightly irritated, but Tagas doesn’t think it’s directed at him, at least, he hopes it’s not. “Are you being trained?”

“Oh, no, sir! I would never waste another’s time!”

The Virtue hums softly, elbowing his Archangel lightly to gain his attention, Raphael turns to look at him. “He’s been told he’s not worthy enough to be a healer.”

“Nonsense.” He shakes his head firmly. “Someone with the simple desire to simply help people is more then worthy to be one of my healers.” He turns back to address the boy. “I will train you myself—”

“Oh, my God, you will!”

The Archangel smiles slightly at the boy’s excitement, nodding, and continues on as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “Settle yourself in that bed there, the first order of business is to ensure you are healthy as healthy can be, you and Iaoth appear to be the same age, so I am to suspect you do not have a chart of your own—”

Iaoth kicks his foot at his friend. “Dude, run, beat it, they’re going to poke you like a pin cushion!”

Tagas tilts his head as he looks down at his friend. “What?”

Raphael smacks the youth next to him on the head lightly with the charts in his hand. “Hush, you. Eat your candy bar in peace.”

“I’m just trying to warn him, man, I’m a good friend.”

“You don’t have to be awake for that IV to replenish your grace, don’t frighten him, he’s timid enough as is.”

“He should be timid, my arms are still sore.”

“Oh, hush.” He smacks him lightly again, gesturing to the bed next to him. “Tagas, take that bed there, Oren if you would sort out what we need for his injections.” The Virtue nods, guiding the youth around to the other bed, and sits in the chair there, pulling the first drawer on the cart open. Raphael hands the charts over to someone as they pass, and crosses around Iaoth’s bed, holding his hand out. “Let’s do the rear ones first.”

Tagas looks around when he feels the left side of his trousers being tugged down, and yelps, hopping slightly, when a needle pokes in, one after another, four in total, and rubs at his cheek lightly when they come to an end. He’s guided around to sit on the edge of the bed, his sleeves rolled up, and they both start to poke him at the same time, in both arms, and he cries out, tears springing to his eyes, his arms are sore, and he wants them to stop. They do, soon enough, and warm hands caress his cheeks, wiping away the tears as they slip down. “You did very good, young one, very good.” A soft cloth rubs over his cheeks, cleaning up the mess, and he looks up, meeting the Healer’s soft emerald eyes. “You did very well, Oren, give him a few candy bars as a reward for his braveness.”

“T—That hurt.”

“I know it did, little one.” He hugs him for a short moment, and he blinks, pressed against the Healer’s belly. “You did very well.” He guides him around gently. “Lay against those pillows there, Oren, prepare him an IV as well, he’s rather low on grace, we must replenish it while we can.” The Virtue nods, snagging one of the bags resting on the bedside table next to Iaoth, and hangs it on the hook behind the new boy, curling his arm around to insert the line, Tagas whines softly at the pinch, but brightens when the Virtue peels the wrapper on a candy bar, and passes it to him.

Raphael pats his cheek lightly. “You rest here and snack on your treats. I will check on you in a bit. If you two happen to fall asleep while you wait, all the better.” He turns from him, Iaoth frowns lightly, and the Healer raises an eyebrow. “How come he gets a hug, and I don’t?”

“Oh, you are a little fledgling, aren’t you, do you really want a hug?”

Iaoth nods, holding his left arm out, and the Healer rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, as he leans over, curling his arms around the boy in a hug. He sighs softly, wrapping his left arm around his shoulders, the Archangel pats him on the back lightly, presses his cheek against his lightly, and pulls back. “There you are, you had your hug, better?”

The boy nods, taking a bite from his candy bar. “Better.”

“Good.” He pats his cheek lightly, and turns to address his Virtue, Oren looks up, uncurling another wrapper on another candy bar for the other boy. “Oren, stay with them, I will send Akriel over to stay with you all as well.”

“Got it, Raph.”

“Very good.” The elder looks between the two boys. “I will be back.”

Tagas nods, with Iaoth, and they both watch him disappear back in the crowd around them and turns to look at his friend. “Where’s Adonai?”

“He’s with Michael.”

“Oh,” he nods lightly, taking a bite from his candy bar. “What’s it like living with the Archangels?”

“Eh, I don’t know man, it’s only been a night.” Iaoth shrugs. “Raph’s kind of grumpy, but I’m working on it, I’m gonna soften him up.” Oren snorts softly, picking lint off the front of his shirt, and he turns to glare at him lightly for it. “Michael’s nice, he smiles a lot. Lucifer’s kind of quiet, he’s always humming, sometimes I can hear him playing the piano in his room. Gabriel spends most of his time in his room, haven’t really gotten to get to know him all too much.”

The dark-haired youth nods lightly. “You think he was being serious?” He takes a bite from his candy bar. “That he’ll teach me?”

“Oh, he was being very serious,” the Virtue answers in his friends place. “He’s going to teach you everything he knows. He’s chosen you, you’re going to get to know him rather well, I have no doubts you’ll be taken back to their Villa come night fall.”

Tagas blinks in surprise. “What?”

Iaoth pumps his left fist. “Dude, you’re going to live with us too! Sweet!”

“I am?”

“You are,” Oren nods, handing him another candy bar, he was never told there was a limit. “He’s grown rather fond of you already, I can see it, he’s going to keep you close.”

Tagas nods mutely, taking a bite from his new candy bar, his mind still trying to wrap around this turn of events.

Akriel joins them after both boy’s have fallen asleep, helping him change out the bags on the IVs, and rolls the other chair over to sit with his brother, they talk quietly between each other. The Archangel returns to check in on them some time after, checking their levels, feeling their pulse, fondly petting both of their curls back, one after the other.

“Raph?”

“Hmm?” He spares his Captain a glance. “Yes?”

“You’re taking the other boy with you, right?”

“Mhmm.” He lifts his arm lightly to pull the blankets up over him, before turning and doing the same with the other boy. “Indeed, I am.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I have to say, I’m rather impressed.”

“Why?” He looks down to his drink, breathing heavily, still trying to calm down after such an exertion. “Because of what I am?”

“No,” the older angel shakes his head. “That your that skilled at your age. How long have you been watching us?”

Adonai looks up at the Power with wide eyes, that’s not what he had expected, and he shrugs, as though it’s not so important. “Oh, for as long as I can remember. I’ve always been rather interested in the warriors.”

Nisroc hums, taking a sip from his own drink, and looks up to his archangel as he approaches, Michael had left them be, going off to see the others, he hadn’t gotten to see their match. “Well, my Captain,” the Archangel sets a hand on the youth’s head. “How did the youngling fair?”

“He held his own rather well, he’s quite taken with Abe and Puri’s style, he held his own rather well.”

“Mighty interesting, you sound to be rather impressed.”

“I am impressed, for one so young and with no true formal training, to hold his own against me, of all people, that’s mighty impressive.” He nods, taking another sip. “With your permission, if he’s interested, I’d like to train him.”

Michael smiles, looking down to the youth, meeting his wide hopeful eyes, and chuckles lightly. “Who am I to deny that request, is that something you’d be interested in, Adonai?”

“Oh, yes, yes please!” He nearly chokes, he was half way through taking a sip of his drink when he’d been asked, and both elders chuckle lightly, Michael pats him on the back lightly. “Yes, I would, very much so!” His head flits around to the Powers’ Captain. “Yes, please, I’d very much like it if you trained me, I promise to work hard and do my best, I won’t disappoint or bring shame to you for your offer, please, please train me!”

Nisroc chuckles lightly. “Alright, alright, take a breath before you choke, I’d be happy to train you. I’ll introduce you to Abraxos, you’re rather taken with his style, he’d be best to assist as well.”

“Thank you!” Adonai jumps forward, hugging himself around the Powers’ Captain tightly, Nisroc huffs from his impact and chuckles once again, curling an arm around him in turn. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, little one, meet me here tomorrow, ten o’clock.”

“I will, I’ll be here!”

Michael hums softly. “We’ll have to get him cleared before he can start any training, perhaps it be better to meet the day after, we need to ensure he’s working at his best.”

Nisroc nods in agreement. “Agreed, in a day’s time, then. I’ll be waiting.”

…

“So, I couldn’t help but take notice, little brother, that you left this morning with one boy, and returned with two.” Raphael hums into his mug, nodding to his older brother, watching the Morningstar stir their meal in the pan he was utilizing. “Were my eyes deceiving me?”

“They were not. He want’s to be a healer. I told the boy I would train him.”

Michael smiles lightly. “That’s nice of you.”

“I’m a nice individual.”

They both look at the youth when they hear Adonai snort softly, the older archangel smiles down at him, rubbing his head lightly, and the Healer winks at him, catching the boy’s smile, he was clearly amused by that statement.

“What’s this I hear about Nisroc wanting to train young Adonai?”

“Yes, yes,” the oldest Archangel nods, thanking the Morningstar when he sets a bowl in front of him and their young friend, returning with one for the Healer and the Messenger, he sets two in front of the empty seats, they know Iaoth at this point, as soon as he smells food, he’ll make himself present. “They had a bit of a sparing match today, he held his own quite well, Nisroc was very impressed.”

“I’ll have to clear him before he can start any training.”

“Run man,” Iaoth appears in the seat on the Healer’s right, Raphael lifts his mug out of his reach when he reaches out for it, and takes a sip. “They’re going to make you into a pin cushion.”

“Oh, hush, you.” He laughs ducking, as the Healer reaches out to cuff him over the head again, similar in the way he had done that morning, just without the charts. “Don’t frighten him, young Tagas about had a heart attack thanks to your so called _‘warning’_.”

The youth laughs softly, tugging his friend down in the seat next to him, Tagas looks around them all cautiously.

Adonai looks up at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Pin cushion, man!” Raphael leans forward, smacking him on the lips lightly, Iaoth smiles up at him and the archangel rolls his eyes fondly, Michael smiles at the two of them, his brother was very clearly fond of that boy, and Iaoth had taking a liking to him in turn. “Hush, Iaoth.” He turns his attention to his brother. “I looked for your chart this morning, and as it seems, you seem not to have one, thus we must make one up. There will be a number of injections, yes,” he shoots the other youth a glance when he sees him open his mouth from the corner of his eye, and nods when his mouth snaps shut. “But, you’ll be strong and brave, as warriors are.”

Iaoth watches his brother, chewing on a piece of chicken, and swallows lightly. “I cried.”

Adonai looks over at him, his eyes wide, at the thought of what might come to him the following morning. “You did?”

“Wept like a baby,” he elbows his friend and Tagas looks up at him. “Tag did too.”

The other youth nods slightly, intoning quietly. “I did.”

That seems to offer a bit of comfort to your smaller miracle worker, but his face still takes on an ashen hue, Michael hums next to him, swallowing his mouthful of food, and rubs his back soothingly. “Fear not, little one, I will come with you.”

He looks up at the oldest Archangel. “You will?”

“Of course, I will be at your side the entire time.”

Adonai smiles up at him. “Thanks.”

“Of course, little one.” The Archangel smiles at him, before turning his attention to the one on his other side, giving him a similar smile in turn. “Your name is _‘Tagas’,_ correct?”

He nods up at him. “Yes sir.”

Michael hums. “No need to be so formal.” He takes a bite of his stir fry. “So, you said you wanted to be a healer?”

“Oh, yes, very much, I want to help people, more than anything.”

“Very noble,” He smiles down at him. “I can see why my brother has taken a liking to you.”

Tagas eyes widen slightly, and he turns to look at the Archangel in question, and the Healer nods lightly, confirming his brother’s statement. He blushes deeply, turning back to his bowl, and shovels a fork full into his mouth, to save him from having to say anything. Iaoth snorts at his side and he elbows him for it.

“Tagas, what _were_ you doing in the Infirmary today?” The Archangel of Healing inquires softly. “Not that you aren’t permitted within, but you are the only other miracle worker I’ve seen.”

“Oh, that’s easy.” He stabs a piece of chicken onto his fork. “They like to bring me up when they’re harvesting my grace. They say it’s so I can see what I can never be.”

He sets his mug down, not batting an eye when the youth next to him snatches it away, Iaoth had started a habit. “ _What_?”

“Yea, they say that’s the closest I’ll get to being a healer,” he chews on that piece of chicken and swallows. “Watching them work.”

“No wonder you were so low when I checked.” Raphael frowns deeply, leaning back in his chair, snagging his mug back from Iaoth, taking a sip of his own, before passing it back to the youth. “This practice is most certainly unacceptable. I’ll have to address it immediately, any further action will result in harsh consequences, you will show me who did this to you come morning.”

He gulps softly. “Do I have to?”

“I don’t believe I _asked_.”

He gulps again. “Yes sir.”

“You don’t have to call me _‘sir’_.” He looks up at the lightness in the Healer’s tone, and the Archangel smiles at him, bowing his head slightly. “I’m not such a tightwad, I promise.”

Iaoth snorts softly, nodding his head slightly. “Sure. You’re just a grump.”

“I am _not_ a _‘grump’_ , as you so put it.”

“Um,” he spares him a glance. “You kind of are.” He takes a bite of his food. “Like a grumpy old man.”

Gabriel snorts, and quickly hides it behind a light cough when his older brother glares at him, he smiles innocently as he takes a sip of his drink.

Raphael turns his attention back to the youth, crossing his arms lightly, cocking his head slightly. “A _‘grump old man’_ , huh?”

“Uh, yea, it’s pretty obvious.”

“You know, Iaoth,” he steals his mug back. “I do believe you require another _physical_ examination.”

“ _What_?”

“Yes,” he hums nonchalantly. “I do believe you do.”

“But—”

“You will come with me after supper.”

Iaoth blinks, feeling vaguely under threat. “If I don’t?”

“I will _drag_ you.”

…

Adonai and Tagas looks over at him when he falls between them in bed, giggling quietly under his breath, and presses his hands over his face. “Guys….Guys…” He swallows his giggles best as he can, moving his hands down to rub at his belly, looking between his two brothers. “Never, and I mean _never_ , call Raphael a _‘grumpy old man’_ to his face.”

“Why not?”

Iaoth turns to look at his brother, shaking his head. “Adonai, I’m not gonna say why, just trust me, never, ever call him that.” He rubs at his belly again, swallowing more giggles, taking a deep breath and holding it, to try and ebb his giggling.

Adonai grins at him. “Oh, my, god!”

“Shut up, ‘Nai!”

“He _did_!”

“Shut up!”

Tagas looks between them both, confusion written in his expression. “What did he do?”

The boy between them glares at his brother, Adonai giggles softly down at him, but lays back down, leaving Tagas question unanswered. “Guys?”

Iaoth turns to look at him. “Call him a ‘ _grumpy old man’_ and find out.” The other boy tilts his head. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

…

Adonai watches him with wide eyes as he places syringe after syringe into a tray on top of the cart next to him, he looks over, trying to catch Tagas’s eyes, he was sitting at a desk with Oren reading through old charts, Oren had kept the diagnoses sheets, and was to quiz him after reading the reports to see what details he had captured before allowing him to read the diagnoses sheets, his first lesson was paying attention to detail, it was the details that made all the difference when it came to treating a patient. When he doesn’t catch his friends attention, he turns back to watch the Healer gather what he needs, wringing his fingers together nervously.

There was a _lot_ of them.

“Alright, we’ll start with the rear.”

“What?” He chokes out, staring at him incredulously, shaking his head. “No, no way, nope.”

Raphael sighs, he’d expect nothing less from someone who had not received adequate medical attention and looks to his brother. “Michael, if you would?”

The oldest Archangel nods lightly, standing from the edge of the bed, from his place at the small miracle worker’s side. “Come, little warrior, on your feet.” He tugs the youth up, and he shakes, his hands shake, as he’s pulled to his feet.

Adonai shakes his head. “Do you have to?”

“I’m afraid so, young one.” He knows someone who’s frightened when he sees one, he’s had enough patients who are rather frightened of needles enough to recognize it, and nods to his older brother once more. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Come around here, little one.” Michael turns him around, to face him, and pulls him in close, curling an arm around his shoulders and his hand around the back of his head. “It’s alright.” He nods to the Healer, and Raphael scoots closer, pulling the left side of his pants down, Adonai squeaks when the first needle pricks in, clenching his eyes shut. It’s on the fourth one that his legs give out, and he falls limp, Michael stumbles slightly to keep him from dropping. “Whoa, whoa, Raph, brother, I think he’s passed out.”

The Healer nods, standing from his chair, and catches him under the arms before he can collapse. “He worked himself into a fit.” He helps his brother carry the youth back to the bed, settling him back against the pillows, waves down a healer to fetch them a bowl of water and cloth and some juice, and leans over him, Michael holding his hand on the other side of the bed, having pulled that chair over to sit in.

“Adonai, little one,” he pats the youths cheek lightly, leaning over him, eyeing his features for any movement. “Adonai, little one, wake up.” He pats his cheek a bit more, urging him awake softly, nodding at the healer upon their return with the items he’d requested. “Rub this over his forehead and cheeks.” He wrings the cloth of excess water and passes it to his brother, the older Archangel nods, taking it from him and rubbing it gently over his forehead. “He’s going to wake in the midst of a hot flash.”

They both lean over him when the boy moans softly, his eyes fluttering open, and smiles down at him.

“Hello,” Raphael smiles down at him, rubbing his cheek lightly. “You went and passed out on us.”

“S—Sorry.”

“It’s of no trouble, you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.” He turns for the glass of juice, holding it up to his lips. “Take a few small sips.” Adonai nods slightly, curling his lips over the edge, taking a few small sips as he was told to. “There we are, we’ll take the others a different way, you look over to Michael.”

The boy nods, turning his head slightly, looking up at the oldest Archangel silently, Michael smiles down at him and presses the back of his hand to his lips. “It’s alright, little warrior, you’re alright.” He flinches when he feels a prick, what little color that had come back drained again, and Michael coos softly, rubbing his cool cloth over his forehead. “Stay with me little one, stay with me.”

“Alright, we’re done, no more pricks.” Adonai looks back around, blinking up at the Healer, Raphael smile down at him and pets his curls back from his forehead. “You’re alright.” He nods, watching the Healer reach for the tray on the cart, and whines softly. “It’s alright, I said no more pricks, we’ll feed the rest of them through your IV.” Adonai nods again, watching him as he works, closing one side of the feed and opening the other, feeding the serum through the other valve. “There we are.” He opens the other valve once more, allowing the grace to flow through the line, and turns back to him with the glass of juice. “Let’s take a few more sips.” The young miracle worker nods, leaning forward to take a few more sips as he was instructed, and lays back against the pillow when he’s had enough. “How are you feeling?”

“T—Tired…H—Hot….”

“Well,” he looks first to his older brother, and Michael nods, before returning his gaze to the youth between them. “You’re going to be here for a short while, you need a few bags of grace, why don’t you go ahead and take a bit of a nap.”

“I—I’m allowed?”

“Of course, you’re allowed.” Raphael pats him on the chest lightly. “You take a nice nap and just rest. We’ll help you back to the Villa later if you’re still feeling unwell.”

“Thanks, R—Raphael.”

The Healer smiles down at him, rubbing a knuckle over his cheek. “Call me _‘Rapha’_.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Alright, Tagas, what do you think of this one?” Raphael gestures to the patient laying in the bed, not in too much pain, the perfect subject to use as a training tool. The young miracle worker looks them over with great scrutiny, eyes narrowed, skimming over their person carefully.

Tagas nods, looking up to the Healer with certainty. “He’s been tortured.”

He raises an eyebrow, of all the things he was suspecting from him, that was not one of them. “How do you say?”

“Easy,” Tagas points to their wrists. “There are bruises on his wrists, either from bindings or being held down, they’re deep, so probably the latter.” He points to their arms. “The cuts are jagged, for optimum affect, the more jagged, the more they hurt, the harder they are to stitch up, whoever did that wanted to cause as much pain as possible.” He points to their face. “There’s light irritation around the edges of his mouth, he was gagged, probably to keep from screaming too much.”

Raphael stares down at him. “You seem very sure of that diagnosis.”

“I am.”

“How can you be so sure.”

“Because, that’s how Iaoth looked.”

Oren, standing a few paces away, inhales deeply. The Healer spares him a glance, his eyes searching out the accused, finding him seated at his desk at the other end of the grand hall, drawing something on a piece of parchment, before turning back to the trainee at his side. “What?”

“Yea, Adonai came to watch the warriors train and they noticed he was gone, Iaoth wouldn’t tell them where he’d gone to, so they held him down and cut his arm open and broke it, he nearly lost use of his hand, but I patched him up, he’s good now.” Tagas looks up at the silence, meeting the Healer’s emerald green eyes, they stare at each other for a long moment, he blinks first. “He told you he did it, didn’t he?”

Raphael nods absently, his mind is whirling, to know that someone in his own flock, a flock who has dedicated their lives to heal and help, would cause such harm to one of their own. “And, Adonai, has he ever been….Ever been….”

“Tortured?” Tagas nods slightly, averting his eyes away from the Healer’s emerald green, he feels bad for divulging their secrets. “Yea, Iao snuck into the Garden once to get us some fruits to eat, because the elders weren’t giving the rations out equally, and they noticed he was gone, Adonai wouldn’t say where he went, so they cut his chest open, pulled the skin back, and broke his ribs one by one, he has a large scar that runs down from between his collar bones down to his belly button, from his shoulders down to the center of his chest, I reset the bones and sewed his chest closed, it looks like…..It looks like someone put him through a human autopsy.”

Oren curls a hand around his mouth, his face paling, they had never thought it was this bad in the lower factions.

The Archangel rubs at his face lightly. “Why didn’t I see it when I gave him his examination, I only saw the banishing runes carved into his side.”

“He’s perfected the use of glamour spells, he keeps it hidden, people stare when they see it and he doesn’t like it.” He curls his fingers around his belt. “And, those aren’t banishing runes, they’re dampeners, despite how low we stand on the totem pole, we’re still powerful in our own right, they carved those into him to keep him from healing himself.” He blinks softly. “I re-carved them when they scabbed up and broke them, so he could heal himself, Iaoth held him down.”

He fears asking, for he fears the answer, but he looks back to the little one before him, tapping his cheek for his attention. “And, you?”

Tagas stares up at him for a long moment, and sighs, nodding softly, raising his right hand, he waves it over his right ear, the picture fizzles and shimmers, the sign of a glamour, and it fades. It’s all scar tissue, red and rumpled, his entire ear, creeping around to the edge of his right eye, a burn, a horrid burn, half of his ear was missing, the massive burn mark trailed down the side of his neck and disappeared under his collar. He looks over when he hears Oren choke, and the Virtue turns away, they’ve all seen horrid things in their line of work, but to see something like this on someone so young was sickening. “I’m deaf in my right ear and partially blind in my right eye.”

“Little one,” his voice breaks, despite his attempts to keep it steady, as he turns the boy’s head to get a clearer picture of the damage. “How?”

“Basilisk venom.”

“They…They poured basilisk venom over the side of your head?”

Tagas nods lightly in his grasp. “I forget why, though…No…No, I remember….One of them got really angry when I said I wanted to be a healer and said I couldn’t be one without all five senses.”

Raphael turns his head back around, to meet his eyes, his own wide, they flicker between their usual emerald green and electric blue. “One of my _healers_ did this to you?”

“Yea, but it’s okay, I was out of line.”

“ _Tagas_ ,” it was normal for the abused to defend their abuser, even take on the thought process that they were the cause for the abuse, it was their fault, and this, this was beyond abuse. “You did _nothing_ to deserve this. This is a _travesty,_ it’s a….it’s a hate crime, at best.”

The little miracle worker stares up at him. “So, now that you know…Can I still…..Can I still be a healer…Will you still train me….Even though I’m like this?”

“ _Yes,”_ the Archangel nods firmly. “Yes, I will still train you. I have all kinds in my flock of healers, those who can’t speak a word, those who can’t hear a word, those who can’t see the writing on the charts, I take all kinds.” He caresses his burned cheek. “Of course, I will _still_ train you.”

“ _Who_?” They both turn to look at the Captain of the Virtues, Oren’s seemingly gotten over his shock, the color’s returned to his face, and then some, there’s a red tint, he’s angry, one might even be appropriate in saying that he’s enraged, even. “ _Who,_ Tagas?”

Raphael looks away from his Virtue to the young angel at his side, turning his attention back around to him gently, and nods slightly. “Yes, little one, who did this to you?”

Tagas blinks up at him. “Ophaniel.”

“Oren.” The Captain nods firmly, leaving them, stalking away, in search of his query. Raphael wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with him yet, but he knew one thing, he had no place in his flock for such abusers, torturers, it went against everything they stood for. “Does it hurt?”

The youth shakes his head. “Not anymore, I can’t feel it, sometimes it aches though, usually when the weather changes suddenly, like before it storms or something.” He reaches up, rubbing his fingers over the ridged skin. “Sometimes my neck stiffens up.”

“When it does, I want you to tell me,” he rubs his fingers over the raised skin. “I have oils I can massage into the skin to loosen it up once more, can you do that?”

Tagas nods. “Yea, I can do that.”

“Good boy,” he nods the healers there to tend to their patient, leaving him in their skilled hands, and guides the young one around, making his way in the other’s direction, Iaoth looks up, as though feeling his eyes on him, and he jerks his head slightly, the boy nods, standing from the desk, and turns for the direction of his office. “Tagas,” he looks down at the boy as they follow after the other, and bright eyes turn to meet his. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.”

…

“I got this one when I died.” Rahatiel splashes water around as he taps a hand over his heart, Sablo sees the look that crosses the second oldest Power’s features and elbows his brother in the side. “Oh, right, sorry.”

Titus rubs a hand over his neck. “I got these when I was taken captive as an Elect.”

Nisroc hums softly, they’d been having a bit of a competition as they soaked in the steamy hot water after a long day of training, to see who had the worst scar and where they got it from, he nods lightly, looking down at the boy at his side, Adonai had been quiet throughout, playing silently with the bubbles they had added to the water for him.

He nudges him with his hand. “What about you, Adonai, any scars?”

“Of course, he hasn’t, Nis,” Puriel intones playfully. “He’s just a baby.”

“Nonsense, Puri, he can join in if he has any to share.” He rubs the youth’s shoulder lightly. “How about it, ‘Nai?”

The little miracle worker shrugs lightly, looking down to his chest. “I don’t have very many, but I do have this one.” He runs a finger down the center of his chest, and now that it’s been pointed out, they can see it. The shimmer of scar tissue, a long thick line, stretching from just under his collar bones and down into the water, two more, from the middle of his chest, up to his shoulders. “That’s the biggest one.”

Nisroc frowns, leaning closer for a better look, running a finger down the length of it. Adonai watches him for a moment, before returning to playing with the bubbles, next to him, on his other side, Abraxos raises an eyebrow, leaning over to gain a better look at it himself. “Where’d you get this, little warrior?”

“My superior, well, my _old_ superior.”

“You mean, this was inflicted by one of our _own_?”

Adonai nods lightly, patting his hands together, bubbles go flying from the clapping. “Yea, Iaoth had snuck away to get some fruit from the Garden and I wouldn’t tell them where he went.”

“They _tortured_ you?” Rahatiel frowns in displeasure, rubbing Sablo’s arm lightly in his discontent, the younger Power leans into him soothingly. “Who was your superior?”

“Yea, I wouldn’t say, so they opened my chest up and broke my ribs, one by one.” He shakes his head lightly. “But I never told. Iaoth’s feet are heavily scarred too, they flayed his feet, and Tagas is deaf in his right ear and partially blind in his right eye, but you wouldn’t know it.”

Nisroc shakes his head at the younger Power, they’d find out their name later and deal with that matter thoroughly, he rubs the youth’s arm lightly, and Adonai turns to look up at him. “Anything else?”

The boy hums softly, and nods, much to their displeasure, they had scars, yes, but they were also seasoned warriors, it came with the job. But to see such things on him, a mere _boy_ , it made them slightly sick to their stomachs, especially to know it was done by the hand of one of their own.

“Don’t tell Michael.” Adonai uses Nisroc’s knee and Abraxos’ shoulder as leverage as he climbs up to his feet, looking down to his side, as the bubbles drip down his form, running his finger over the thick writing, stretching from his belly button and back around his side, to his spine. “I got these.”

The oldest Power scoots forward, tracing his finger over the runes, frowning in distaste. “Banishing runes?”

The boy shakes his head. “No, they’re easily confused, dampening runes. They carved them in before they cut my chest open, to keep me from healing, then Tagas re-carved them when they scabbed up so he could break them, after he sewed me up, so I could heal again, but even then, it was still slow, because though they were broken, they were still fresh, so I had to wait for those to heal before my grace could heal my chest.”

“Let me see.” Abraxos curls his fingers in the leg of his knee-high trousers and turns him around, to see for himself, and he frowns just as Nisroc had, running his finger over the intricate carvings. Puriel leans over his shoulder to get a better look.

Rahatiel and Sablo lean in when the medic reclaims his seat, muttering to himself about vengeance and violence, Sablo gasps softly, and Rahatiel rubs his fingers over the side of his neck, reaching out to feel the raised skin on the youth’s side, he frowns deeply, as he reclaims his place, pulling Sablo down with him. Adonai nods, easing himself down, using Abraxos for stability, to keep himself from falling off the ledge, it’s deep, deeper then he can reach, anyway, and he can’t swim. He collects bubbles in his hands again. “But, it’s okay.”

“It is _not_ okay, Adonai.” Nisroc intones deeply, he’s displeased, extremely displeased. “They _tortured_ you.” He turns his head around to meet his eyes. “Who was your superior.”

“Adonai,” Titus had been silent this entire time, staring down at the bubbles, lost in his thoughts. “You know Briathos, don’t you, he was a miracle worker too.”

The others turn to look at him in surprise, they hadn’t known that, and they hadn’t the slightest idea why their brother hadn’t told them. Perhaps he was frightened of the way they’d react.

Adonai nods lightly. “Yea, we were in the same brood. He snuck away, we thought they killed him, drained him dry, honestly, when I saw him upstairs, I was surprised.”

The Power takes a breath, and looks up at him, he looks as though he wants to ask, but isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. “Did they….. Did they ever hurt him?”

He looks away from the Power, feeling the eyes of the others on him, and Titus inhales, as though his averting his eyes was answer enough. “I don’t know if that’s my place to tell you.”

“Please, Adonai,” he looks back up at the Power’s pleading, Titus looks so devastated, and he feels bad for hurting him. “Please, I need to know.”

Adonai rubs at his cheek lightly, and after a moment, he nods slightly. “Yea…. Yea, they did.”

The Power scoots closer, pressing into the medic’s side, Puriel curls an arm around him in comfort. “What…What did they do?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you without his permission.”

The Power leans around the medic. “Adonai, _please_.”

The youth nods lightly, he doesn’t want to betray his friend, but then, at the same time, his friend had betrayed them when he’d run away. “When he ran away the first time….They caught him…And, you know, since we’re angels, human methods of….Of torture don’t kill us….” He takes a breath. “Do you know…Do you know what the blood eagle is?”

Titus curls a hand around his mouth, and he pushes himself up, climbing out of the pool, jogging from the room, dripping water behind him. The others look stricken, staring into the far away, not sure how to respond, someone, two that they love so dearly, had been harmed in such horrid ways.

Adonai sighs softly, shaking his head, and turns back to the bubbles he’s collected in his hands.

“Haniel,” Nisroc calls softly, rubbing at his bearded chin lightly, staring down at the water. “Go get Michael.”

This was something the Council of Archangels would have to be made aware of.


	6. Chapter 6

For the Council to convene so soon, the Host knows it must be important, they’d caught a glimpse of the Healer’s face as he made his way up the Axis to the Throne room, and they’d backed away from him. The Viceroy’s expression thundered with anger as he made his way from his training field to the Throne room, and they had sent word that they wanted to see certain people, they requested their presence, and they watched as they went for a sense of foreboding doom.

…

Raphael’s lost in his thoughts as they wait for their requested audience to arrive, resting his head against the boy’s, Tagas sitting on his right leg, leaning back against his shoulder, his head pressing to the side of his own, as he rubbed his fingers over the rumpled side of his neck soothingly, the fingers of his other hand buried in Iaoth’s curls, the boy leaning against his left leg. He can’t wrap his mind around the thought that someone in his own flock, one of his _healers_ , had caused this much harm to another, especially one so young.

What had the boy done to garnish such treatment, he’d had a dream, he’s only wished to help people, what crime was that, he didn’t understand, he didn’t think he ever would.

Michael watches the doors mutely, Adonai seated on the arm of his throne, his arm curled around the boy protectively. He’d been furious, when he’d seen the scars the boy bore, that someone, one of their own, would do that to one of their own, with no remorse, for something as simple as wondering where a friend had gone. He was ashamed in himself, for not noticing things were this bad, he’d been living behind rose colored lenses, not facing a reality that was right under his nose.

The door opens and a soul walks in, a healer, small, short hair, a tad on the rotund side.

Tagas averts his eyes, reaching up for the fingers stroking over the side of his neck, they curl around him, and he pulls the hand down, wrapping the arm around himself. The Healers fingers squeeze his comfortingly. “Thank you, for coming, Ophaniel.”

The healer bows slightly at his Archangel. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

“Tell me, Ophaniel, have you ever deliberately harmed another?”

The healer looks stricken, eyes widening, eyebrows meeting, and he shakes his head. “Never, sir.”

Raphael turns his head slightly, looking to the boy resting against his shoulder, Tagas turns slightly, to meet his gaze, and he smiles at him softly, pressing their noses together for a moment, before returning his attention to the one before him. “I was _informed_ of some rather interesting details this morning, Ophaniel, care to know what they were?”

Recognition flits through the healer’s eyes when he turns his attention to the boy resting on his Archangel’s lap, arm curled around him, fingers curled around his, and Raphael hums deeply. “S—Sir?”

“I was told that one of my healers, one that I trusted to aid another, poured _basilisk venom_ over another’s head.” He makes a face. “Which strikes me as odd, seeing as I would expect my healers to know just how corrosive basilisk venom is, it melts through solid metal, I would be sure they would know the _extent_ of the damage it would have on another’s _skin_.” His eyes bear down on him and Ophaniel shivers slightly. “Of course, when I’d found out, my first inquiry, among many, was who this offending healer was. Do you know _who’s_ name came up?”

“M—Mine?”

“Oh, so you do know of the incident I speak of?”

“S—Sir, with all due respect, _he_ said he wanted to be a _healer_ —”

“And, you took it upon yourself to make the decision to deny him his one request, not only that, you _tortured_ him for it.” The Healer tightens his grip around the youth’s waist, pulling him closer, Tagas looks down at him, but he keeps his gaze locked on his healer. “It is _not_ your decision on who is worthy of becoming one of my healers, it is _mine_ , and _only_ mine.” Iaoth leans heavier against his leg, as though sensing the fine line of his temper approaching, and he scratches at his head lightly. “Out of the two of you, I only see one who is unworthy, and it is not the boy. You go against everything you swore an oath to, you are there to heal and mend, not cause destruction and pain.” He shakes his head firmly. “I have no place for you in my flock, you are a disgrace for a healer, the boy shall be your replacement.”

Ophaniel takes a step forward, and Tagas shrinks back against him, he glares the banished healer to a halt. “S—Sir, please!”

“I have made my decision, someone who would willing _harm_ a youngling, no matter the severity, has no hope of remaining within my charge.” He rubs the boy’s belly soothingly, and feels him loosen up, he’d grown tense under the attention of his abuser. “I expect you to be out by night fall, should you dilly dally, I will have guards _escort_ you out.”

The banished healer stares at him, his gaze is unrelenting, he will not be giving him a second chance. “W—Where am I supposed to go?”

Raphael gestures to his brothers next to him. “Perhaps one of them will take you into one of theirs, but I will not, you are not welcome.”

Ophaniel looks first to Gabriel, directly on the Healer’s right, sitting straight in his Throne, looking every bit the Archangel he was, he was taking this proceeding very seriously, even he knew when there was a time and place for jokes and laid-back personality, and this was not it. They were going to be doing things differently this time, they would rebuild their family, back to how it should be, better then before, and it started with weeding out the bad ones.

The Messenger shakes his head firmly. “I have no place for you in my flock, my first priority is their safety, everyone under my care, and if you would so carelessly harm a _youngling_ , whom simply wanted to be able to help people, then I can not help but wonder what you might do to one of mine, so the answer is no.”

He turns to the second born, Lucifer eyes him carefully, resting his chin in his right hand, leaning against the right side of his Throne. “No.” He says simply, not one for many words, and that leaves him his last hope, as he turns to the oldest, Michael regards him closely, he leans over when Adonai turns, whispering something in his ear, and gives a small nod to whatever it is that was shared between them.

“You were raised in my flock, if I remember correctly?”

Ophaniel nods, lowering himself to his knees, he’s not above begging, if neither of them would take him in, he’d have no where to go, he’d be factionless.

The oldest Archangel hums softly. “Have you kept up on your training?”

He nods fervently. “Every morning.”

The Archangel nods, turning to whisper something in the youngling’s ear, Adonai nods, turning to whisper back. He’s not sure what’s being said, but he’s hopeful, he curls his hands together, watching them with wide eyes.

Michael nods, straightening up once more, returning his complete attention to him. “I need more medics for my flock. You were one of my brother’s handpicked, so you must be skilled at your profession, I will take you into my flock, under one condition, if I ever hear you abusing another soul, I will have no hesitation in casting you out.” He continues when the banished healer’s eyes widen in shock. “It is within my right to do so, ultimately my decision, and I will have no hesitation, no second thoughts, we are not barbarians, what you did is highly unacceptable, I am ashamed of you, and I will not be as forgiving as I am now if it ever comes to pass again, do you understand me?”

He nods fervently. “Yes, yes sir, yes, I understand, thank you, oh, thank you sir!”

Michael shakes his head. “It is not me you should thank, I wasn’t going to allow it,” he pats the youngling’s outer thigh softly. “Even after his unending abuse at the hands of others, my charge is still rather optimistic, it is him who asked me to grant you a place in my flock, I trust his decisions, so I granted his request. I don’t understand it myself, if I were in his shoes, having lived through what he has, I would not be as forgiving as he is, I would not be under the impression that everyone deserves a second chance.” He squeezes the youth’s thigh lightly, smiling faintly when he squeaks and squirms away from his hand, falling down into his lap, and he curls his arms around his waist securely and protectively. “It is him, whom you should be thanking, not me.”

Adonai leans back against the oldest Archangel’s chest, feeling him rest his chin on top of his head, he feels safe in this position, he’s happy he was ultimately moved here.

Ophaniel nods, looking over to the youngling, bowing his head respectfully. “Thank you, thank you, little one, thank you.”

Adonia nods mutely and turns away from him, looking over to the Morningstar instead, Lucifer feels his eyes and turns to gaze back, giving him a soft smile. Michael’s voice rumbles behind him. “You will move into the barracks, the medics barracks is on the far right side, find an empty bunk.” He withdraws his right arm from the youngling’s waist, reaching out slightly, twisting his wrist, a scroll appears in his hand, sealed with a wax seal. “Give this to Puriel, he is your new captain, it is not for you to read, my grace is infused in the seal, I will know if you break it, and if you know what’s good for you, you will not try.”

The new medic nods quickly, rising from his kneeling position, stepping up to take the scroll from the oldest Archangel.

He waves his fingers in a shooing motion. “You’re dismissed.”

Ophaniel nods, thanking the youngling softly once more, and hurries away, before second thoughts can be made and his acceptance rescinded.

The doors bang softly as they’re closed, and Michael smiles, looking down at the youngling in his lap, wiggling his fingers lightly in his belly. Adonai squeaks softly, squirming and giggling, trying to push his hands away, he doesn’t manage it, those fingers continue their gentle assault uninhibited, and he instead tries to suck in his belly. “You’re ability to forgive surprises me, little one.”

Lucifer chuckles from his side. “Michael, this is hardly the right time or place for such an assault.”

“Nonsense,” Michael turns to smile at him, his brother smiles back, his eyes flitting down to the giggling youth in the eldest’s lap. “Anytime is the right time for such an assault, there has been many of it’s kind in here, you remember how _Father_ was, don’t you, _little_ brother?”

Lucifer’s cheeks blush a deep purple, due to his frozen inner core, and turns away. Gabriel laughs on his other side, and he reaches out to smack him, the Messenger leans away, yelping when he’s smacked anyway, and turns to look at the third born in betrayal, Raphael smiles at him lightly. “It was deserved.”

Michael returns his attention to the youngling he holds, having mercy on him, he stops his attack, and the youth falls back against him, breathing feverishly to try and calm himself. “What made you decide he deserved a second chance?”

Adonia curls his fingers between the fingers of the Archangel’s right hand. “I don’t think he did it to be malicious, I think he did it to fit in, he didn’t seem like to type to be deliberately mean.”

“You surprise me every day, little one, every day.”

He looks up at him, and Michael smiles down at him gently, pressing their foreheads together for a moment. “Good surprises?”

“Always good surprises.”

They look up when the doors open again, and another steps in, they sit up straighten in their thrones at this one, they’d all seen the scars, they all had no breath of a hope of redemption for this one. The three youth’s noticeably stiffen at his entrance, Tagas turns away from him, Iaoth slides back between the Healer’s legs and curls his arm around his left calf, as though being as close as possible would keep him safe (though the other would never get close enough to harm the boy, even if the boy wasn’t as close as he was), Adonia turns in the oldest’s lap, his legs hanging over his right thigh, pressing himself back against his chest, hiding himself slightly in the side of his neck.

Gabriel and Lucifer glare at him, as he comes to stand before them, at the bottom of the small set of stairs. Raphael curls the fingers of his right hand over Tagas’s scarred cheek lightly, turning him away from the sight of his friends abuser, and then reaches down to bury his fingers back in Iaoth’s curls, scratching comfortingly at the top of his head, Iaoth sighs softly, leaning back against the edge of his Throne, his arm still curled around his calf, though not as tightly as it had been just moment before. Michael pets his fingers over Adonai’s cheek, inclining his chin slightly, to catch the other man’s glare, directed at his youngling, directed at all three of their younglings.

He clears his throat at a call for his attention. “Ubaviel.”

“Sir, I humbly apologize.”

Lucifer hums at the oldest Archangel’s side. “For what are you apologizing for?”

Ubaviel bows his head respectfully at the second born. “That they would touch you as they are, for taking up your time, they will be punished severely.”

Raphael grunts softly. “I loathe to think of what your punishments might be.”

Gabriel frowns at him, nodding in agreement with the Healer, but says nothing himself.

Michael clears his throat again, and the others attention returns to him. “Ubaviel, could you explain something for me?”

The miracle worker leader nods silently, and pales considerably, rather noticeably, when the Archangel turns the youngling in his lap around, Adonai clenches his eyes shut, not wanting to see his leader, not struggling as the Archangel lifts the front of his shirt, revealing the scars he bears. “What do these look like to you, Ubaviel?”

He licks his lips nervously. “T—They look like scars.”

“Mhmm, do you know who inflicted them?”

“Yes, sir, I do!” Michael hums softly, sensing the attempt to place blame on another, he has no respect for people like that. “Sahaqiel and Phanuel, they did it, sir!”

“I see, and tell me, who ordered them to?”

The color completely drains from Ubaviel’s face, and he stutters softly as he answers. “I…I did.”

Michael nods, letting go of the youth’s shirt, lifting him from his lap. “Go sit with Lucifer, little one.”

The Morningstar holds his hands out as the youngling comes to stand in front of him, and he pulls him up into his lap, Adonai leans back against his left shoulder.

They watch as the eldest stands from his Throne, making his way down to the elder miracle worker below him, and pulls him closer by the collar, waving the guards by the door over with his free hand, before looking down at the quivering man in his grasp, not so tough now, was he. “I dare you to attempt such an abuse on _me_ , Ubaviel.” He hums softly when the other shakes his head quickly. “You are a coward, Ubaviel, I order you to be taken into the custody of the Prison, where you shall remain while I have your brood examined, your fate rests on their wellbeing, if I find any more signs of _torture_ , I will have no hesitation in casting you out.” He turns his attention to the guards. “Send others to collect Sahaqiel and Phanuel, they are remanded to the Prison while the examination is under way.” The guards nod, and he shoves the angel in his grasp towards them, turning away as he’s dragged off, climbing up the small set of stairs once more, reaching out for his youngling.

Adonai is small, almost as small as a newly aged youngling, just out of their fledgling years, and he lifts him up into his arms with ease, Lucifer stands behind him. “Now, is the right time, brother.” The youth shrieks brightly, when fingers wiggle into his sides, and arches his back, bubbly laughter filling the space around them.

…

Iaoth left his side to meet Oren, the two had grown rather close, he is happy they have, he has someone he trusts to no fault to watch over him while he is otherwise preoccupied. He guides Tagas over to a small group he’s called towards the back of the Infirmary.

They smile at him as he approaches, and Raphael returns their smiles, pulling the youngling around to stand before him. “This is Tagas.” They look down at the boy, and Tagas smiles shyly, waving up at them, they return his smile and wave back. “Tagas, this is Hadiel, Geburatiel, Kalaziel, Anahel, and Lamechiel.”

“Hi.”

“Hello, little one.” Lamechiel is the only one to speak, but the others smile at him again, and wave a few fingers at him in greeting. “Raph?”

The Archangel nods. “I’m teaching him; however, I can’t spare the time today, I want you all to take turns teaching him, for the time being, until I’m not so busy.”

Hadiel smiles lightly. “We’d be glad to.”

“I thought you would be.”


	7. Chapter 7

He comes up behind the youth, leaning back slightly, watching a feather drop from midair, and slowly flutter to the floor, so, he _was_ losing feathers. He squats slightly, picking up the dusty speckled feather, examining it closely, running his finger down the ridge of the feather, it rough, where it should be softly, the individual threads are stiff together, matted together, he rubs his thumb and index finger over the bristles, and his eyebrows raise when his fingers come away smudged, that part of the feather cleaned of a filth, revealing a pale egg shell white, and mocha colored speckles.

Humming, he reaches out, flicking the feather over the youths ear, smiling slightly when he reaches up to bat at whatever the irritant is, and he pulls back slightly, waiting for the hand to drop, before reaching back out to flick the feather over his ear again.

“What—” The boy turns, his eyes widening to see him standing there, and turns completely. “Hi, Rapha, sorry.” He looks down to his feet. “I messed up.”

“It’s alright, little one,” Raphael raises his head with a finger under his chin. “You’re still learning. I expect you to make some mistakes.” He brushes the feather over the boy’s nose. “Tagas, is this your feather?”

Tagas goes cross-eyed, to see the feather flicking over his nose, and when he can’t focus on it, he reaches out, curling his fingers around the Archangel’s wrist, and pushes his hand back, and he gets a better look. “Yes,” he nods slightly. “That is my feather.”

“I see,” the Archangel flicks the feather over his nose one more time. “Come with me, Tagas.”

The boy nods, not questioning his order, and he turns, knowing the boy will follow him, over to an empty section, if the youngling is as skittish about others seeing his wings as much as he thinks he is, then he wants him to have an appropriate amount of space between where he’s resting with his wings out and the others, to help the boy feel a bit more comfortable.

Tagas steps around the Archangel’s side when he stops, his eyes skimming over the items resting there, a number of things, and he knows what they’re for, he’s seen them all before, and he wants no part in it, bad things happened when he allowed others to touch his wings, he wasn’t going to be foolish enough to basically ask for it to happen.

He looks up at the Healer next to him. “What’s going on?”

Raphael reaches around, flicking the feather over his nose again, and he scrunches his face up at the tickly feeling. “I’m going to groom your wings.” He opens his mouth, and leans back, when the feather flicks over his nose once more. “And, no, I was not making the task optional.”

“But—”

“ _Not_ optional.” The Archangel sighs, turning to face him more fully, and brushes the feather under his chin. “I understand you are nervous about others touching your wings, and after being through what you’ve been through, I’d be surprised if you weren’t.” He brushes the tip of the feather down the bridge of his nose. “And, I know it’s no easy task, but I’m asking you to trust me. I’ve groomed quite a few wings in my lifetime, and I know what I’m doing, I promise I won’t hurt you.” And brushes the feather under his chin again, it makes him smile at the feeling, and his mentor smiles down at him. “We’ll take it nice and slow. There’s no rush. I don’t want you to feel too uncomfortable. I know it’s going to be hard, but please, can you trust me to help you?”

Tagas looks down for a moment, down to his feet, mulling over, Raph hadn’t done anything to hurt him in all the time he’s been here, he’s been so kind and nice and gentle, he doesn’t yell at him when he messes up, and never says he’s getting in the way when he follows him around to watch him work.

He nods slightly, looking back up to his mentor. “Yes, yes I can trust you.”

“Thank you.” He curls his hand around his cheek, his hand are warm, and he leans into the touch. “I promise not to break that trust you’ve placed in me.” Tagas nods, stepping forward when he gestures for him to. “Alright take off your boots and your top.” He nods silently, leaning over to untie his boots and toe them off, and reaches up to tug his shirt up over his head, setting it on the bed next to him.

The young miracle working blinks in surprise to see the Archangel resting on the bed, but steps forward, when he holds his hands out to him, curling his small fingers around the elder’s, he lets him guide him forward, crawling up on the bed, between his legs, and lets him guide him down gently, coming to rest on his thigh, he tenses, when the Archangel pulls his other leg up to rest at his side, he’s trapped, he can’t get up. He feels him shift under him, and watches him curl his fingers around a bottle, picking it up, and his hand disappears from his line of sight. Tagas hears the soft pop of a cap being pulled off, then he leans over again, setting the bottle back down, and he hears the Archangel rubbing his hands together.

“Just relax, you’re so tense, everything will be alright.” He jolts slightly when he feels warm hands press into his shoulders, fingers rubbing in circles, and he sighs, that’s not so bad, it doesn’t hurt, and the tension in his body fades slowly but surely. “There we are,” his mentor’s voice rumbles softly above him, his hands rubbing down the length of his back. “Just relax.”

They rest there in silence, Tagas slowly allowing himself to just lay there limply, melting under the gentle kneading of his mentor’s fingers. He makes no mentions of his wings, he said they’d take it slow, there was no rush, and he wasn’t pushing, he just rubbed his back soothingly, massaging away the tension, fingers finding little knots and working them free, and he sighs again, allowing himself to relax, and he curls his hand around the outside of the Healer’s thigh, humming softly when thumbs rub small circles in the back of his neck, bottom to top, and back down again, those warm fingers travel over his shoulders, digging in and kneading, them move down to rub at his shoulder blades. He stiffens when he feels thumbs press into the base of his wings, but melts again, when they rub gentle circles over the soft tender skin. “See, that’s not so bad, is it?”

Tagas shakes his head silently, it feels nice, no ones ever done it this way before.

The hands rest over his shoulder blades. “I’m going to release your wings, is that alright?”

Tagas thinks on it, he hasn’t hurt him thus far, maybe, maybe he _can_ trust him. “Yea, it’s okay.”

“Thank you.” He feels a finger draw an intricate rune between his shoulder blades, there’s the slight pressure of his wings pushing through the planes, and then he sees them, his dirty untamed wings, he lowers one, reaching out to touch it, he jolts when he feels a hand curl around the ridge of his right wing, and a hand presses to his head, fingers scratching at his scalp soothingly. “It’s alright, I’m just examining it.”

“They’re really bad.”

Raphael hums above him. “I’ve seen worse.”

“You have?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve seen much worse.” It feels wrong, but he’s slightly comforted by that, that his wings aren’t that bad. “First, I’m going to scrub your wings.” He looks up when he holds out an item, a scrub brush, and he shakes it softly. “Feel the bristles.” Tagas reaches out hesitantly, running his fingers over the bristles, their slightly firm, but soft, they’re nod hard and scratchy. “It’s soft, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay, I’m to going scrub slow gentle circles, understand?”

“I understand.” Tagas nods against his thigh. “It is going to hurt?”

Raphael scratches his head again, his fingers are still buried in his curls, and hums again. “I won’t lie to you, Tagas, scrubbing the bald spots might sting just a bit, depending on how fresh they are, but I’ll be as gentle as I can, I won’t harm you on purpose.”

“Will I….Will the bald spots fill?” He fears the answer and inhales deeply.

“They will,” Tagas exhales in surprise and relief. “With the right conditions and the right care, they will fill, we’ll have to keep your wings well groomed, checking them every two weeks to ensure the skin is free of any type of barrier, but so long as we maintain that schedule, the bald spots will fill in.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m the Archangel of _Healing_.” He smiles lightly, the Archangel sounds amused, he even chuckles softly. “ _Of course_ , I’m sure.”

That makes him feel better, he tries not to tense up when fingers brush over his left wing lightly. “I’m going to begin scrubbing, just relax, nothing’s going to hurt you, alright?”

He nods silently. “Okay.”

“Good, tell me if you get uncomfortable and I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

He feels him lean over again, watching his fingers curl around a bar of soap, and as he dips the scrub brush into a bowl of water, then his hands disappear, he hears them rubbing together, then he feels it, he tenses, when the scrub brush presses to the inner curve of his wing, and it gently scrubs in a slow circle.

_Oh, that feels good._

Tagas sighs, feeling the brush slowly move down to his secondaries, fingers rub over the tips of his feathers, and the brush presses back to the top of his wing, repeating it’s circling down again, and he slowly melts again, exhaling the breath he’d taken in when the brush had first touched his wing. He hears the Archangel hum softly to himself as he works, and he closes his eyes softly, it feels really good.

“So, the rumors on the grapevine are true, then.”

His eyes fly open at the sound of the other voice, he doesn’t recognize that voice, and he tenses slightly, but the gentle strokes of the brush don’t pause, and he slowly melts again.

“It’s good to see you too, Isa.” He hears the Archangel’s voice rumble softly. Who’s that, _‘Isa’_ , he’s never heard anyone with that name before.

“So, tell me, who was dumb enough to bring _you_ back.” Someone steps closer, and he opens his eyes, he sees a pair of knees, he looks down, green sneakers, and looks up, it’s a teenager, like him, his skin the same color as the Archangel’s, bright blue eyes, like Raph’s electricity, he looks almost exactly like his mentor does, he sighs again, closing his eyes once more, he’ll worry about it again later. “They should have left you where you were.”

“Why, Isa, I’d have thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“After you _abandoned_ me, _please_ , don’t make me laugh, _seriously_.”

Raphael hums softly. “I hardly abandoned you, child.”

“Oh, but you _did_ , though.” He hears the other boy spit. “Too focused on getting your _idiot_ brothers out of the cage and taking care of your _stupid_ little vendetta against Castiel.” He opens his eyes when he hears crackling, watching electricity curl around the other boy’s fists, hmm, interesting. “You completely _forgot_ about me! What, was _I_ not good enough for you.”

“Isa, we are not doing this now.”

“Why not?” Isa snaps back. “Scared your new _pet projects_ will see just how much you _actually_ care about them.”

Tagas feels the Archangel shift, and opens his eyes, seeing a dark finger in Isa’s face. “We are _not_ doing this, Isaiah. Watch yourself, you’re treading on _thin_ ice, be careful that you don’t break through. Calm your temper, right now, or so help me, you _won’t_ like what happens next.”

Isa glares, smacking the finger out of his face, the gentle scrubbing doesn’t pause in the slightest, so Tagas relaxes again. “You don’t scare me.” The other boy snarls. “You’re just Uncle Micha’s little _bitch_!”

The scrubbing stops, he can _feel_ Raphael’s head whipping around, and his tone makes him shiver, it’s deep and dangerous. “ _What did you just call me_?”

Isa’s eyes widen, whether it’s from the dangerous tone or the fact that he actually _said_ that to the Archangel, he doesn’t know, but he knows backtracking when he sees it. “Nothing! I didn’t call you anything! I didn’t say nothing, dad!”

 _Dad_. Tagas’s eyes widen in realization, that’s a _Nephilim_ , and he called Raph _‘dad’_ , so that means he’s _Raph’s_ Nephilim.

Raphael’s hand appears in his line of site, wagging a finger at the Nephilim, gesturing for him to come closer. “Come here, I want to tell you something.”

Tagas watches the Nephilim lean forward cautiously, yelping when the fingers of that hand curl around the collar of his shirt, yanking him forward, and his eyes widen when he sees another dark hand shove the bar of soap in the Nephilim’s mouth.

He watches Isa reach for the bar, and a hand bats his away, a finger in his face, he goes cross-eyed at stare at it. “It stays. Until I’m done with his wings. And, if you take it out _before_ I’m done, it’ll go right back in, and I’ll _hold_ it there with my grace, for an _hour_. Do you understand me?”

Isa’s eyes go wide, and he nods quickly, fingers curl around the waist of his jeans and tug him around, and he closes his eyes, he doesn’t want to see it, it’s too personal, but the Archangel leans over slightly and he can hear the Nephilim being smacked, Isa yelps around the bar of soap, whining pitifully, and he opens his eyes again, when the smacks stop, watching Isa throw his hands back to cover his bottom, the fingers around the waist of his jeans tug him back around, and a finger points to the bed next to them. “You sit there, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t make a _peep_.” The scrub brush starts moving again, and he sighs in comfort, closing his eyes. “And, you can _bet_ you’ll be meeting the belt later, twenty-six blows, bare bottomed.” He hears the Nephilim whine softly around the bar of soap. “ _Not_ a _peep_ , Isaiah.”

He must have fallen asleep, because next thing he knows, he opens his eyes, the suns starting to set, and fingers are brushing through his feathers. His wings feel so much _lighter_. He pulls a wing around, the fingers move away, and he reaches out, brushing his fingers over his feathers, they’re so _soft_ , so _smooth_ , and they _glisten_ , they actually _shine_ , and they’re their _normal_ color. Tagas stares at them, rubbing his fingers over the soft feathers in awe, and he hears a soft deep chuckle above him. “Did I do a good job?”

He pushes himself up, tucking his wings back against his back, meeting his Archangel’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Feel better?”

Tagas nods. “They feel _so_ much better.”

“Good.” Raphael pats his cheek. “Tuck them away again, put your top and boots back on, and we’ll head home.”

The miracle worker nods, pushing himself up, standing carefully, to grab his shirt off the other bed. He spares Isa a glance, the Nephilim looks miserable, tears making his eyes shine, his cheeks glisten, the bar of soap still in his mouth, and he quickly looks away, he doesn’t want to be caught staring. Tagas looks over when he sees the Archangel stand from the side of the bed, standing in front of the Nephilim, Isa looks up at him with wide eyes. “Don’t you _ever_ disrespect me like that again, do you understand me?”

The Nephilim nods quickly and Raphael pulls the bar of soap out of his mouth, setting it on the bedside table, reaching out, he curls his fingers around the Nephilim’s ear, and tugs. “Stand up.” Isa whines, rising quickly, and he looks up when the Archangel turns to look at him. “Ready, Tagas?”

He nods quietly, turning when the Archangel gestures for him to move, and he walks at his side as they make their way down the main aisle, the Healer dragging the Nephilim with him by the ear.

The other Archangels look up when they enter, their eyes widening at the extra boy with them, and Tagas wonders if they know the Nephilim, he supposes they do, he’d called Michael his Uncle, so he’s sure they do.

Raphael presses a hand to the small of his back, and he turns to look up at him, the Healer gestures to the table. “Go ahead and join them, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The miracle worker nods, parting from his side, sitting in his seat on his friends right. Adonai and Iaoth look at him questioningly, and he shakes his head, that’s not his information to give out.

His two friends turn back to watch in time to see the Third Born look down at the other boy, tugging his ear sharply. “Come on, you and I have business to attend to.” Isa’s eyes widen and he stumbles around as his dad strides forward, tugging him along by the ear.

Adonai and Iaoth look over to Michael, and the oldest Archangel smiles, nodding for them to ask their question. “Who’s that.”

Michael nods, his eyes flitting to the hall they had just disappeared down, hearing the soft click of his brother’s door closing, before looking back. “Raphael’s son, Isaiah, he prefers to be called Isa,” he gestures to himself and the other Archangels. “Our nephew.”

And, out of respect, none of them ever make mention of the sharp sound of leather smacking over bare skin or the shrieks that come down the hall with it.


End file.
